THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


: 


••   - 


THE    TORCHLIGHT: 


OK, 


tju 


BY  HARRIET  A.  OLCOTT. 

AUTHOR  OF   "  ISORA'S  CHILD." 


NEW  YORK : 
DERBY    &    JACKSON,    119    NASSAU 

CINCINNATI  I — H.   W.   DBRBT  &   CO. 
1856. 


ENTKBKD  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856?  by 

DERBY    &    JACKSOtf, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Uuited  States  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


W.  H.  TINSOH,  STKRBOTTPTO. 


OTO.  «r/B8EU.  *  CO., 


P'S 
?  4 


MY    UNCLE, 

iam    13  .    $  o  !)  n  s  i  0  it  , 

OF     CINCINNATI  , 


IS  RESPECTFULLY  AND    AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED. 


Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


1218531 


THE    TORCHLIGHT: 


OR, 


THROUGH     THE     WOOD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

."11  /|~R-  MILLER  was  in  an  unusual  state  of  excitement.  His 
IVl  physiognomy  denoted  a  mind  not  easily  ruffled  ;  his 
calm  demeanor,  one  undisturbed  by  trifles  ;  and  that  the 
world  used  him  well,  was  a  fact  undisputed.  It  generally  does 
such  men  as  Mr.  Archibald  Miller  ;  one  whose  word  was  as 
good  as  his  note,  his  note  good  as  gold  ;  and  neither  held  in 
better  estimation  than  his  kind  heart. 

Yet,  on  the  open  brow  and  benevolent  features,  perplex 
ing  thought  seemed  fixed,  betokening  both  bewilderment  and 
pleasure.  No  wonder  ! — he  had  just  emerged  from  the 
private  sitting-room  of  Mrs.  Castleman. 

Mrs.  Archibald  Miller  had  lived  and  died,  a  simple  exam 
ple  of  youthful  excellence,  leaving  her  husband  as  unsophis 
ticated,  in  some  respects,  as  she  had  been  herself.  Her 
gentle  virtues  had  inspired  him  with  a  whole-hearted  trust  in 
her  sex  ;  he  was  shrewd,  keen,  quick-sighted  in  the  ways  of 

1*  9 


10  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

men,  but  woman  was  to  him  the  personification  of  truth  ; 
not  a  goddess  with  sword  and  helmet,  but  the  shadow  of  a 
being  once  loved,  now  an  angel,  white-robed — her  prototype 
yet  on  earth,  the  shade  a  substance,  the  reality  his  future 
wife. 

Mr.  Miller  was  a  man  of  business  ;  and  as  the  phrase  is, 
the  architect  of  his  own  fortunes.  His  early  life  had  been 
one  of  struggle  and  hardship,  his  maturity  showing  the  fruits 
of  it.  Energy  and  perseverance  were  written  on  his  strong, 
somewhat  care-impressed  countenance  ;  integrity  in  the 
honest  expression  of  his  clear  blue  eye  ;  nerve  and  courage  in 
the  firm  outline,  and  defined  curve  of  his  well-formed  mouth  ; 
each  feature  speaking  benevolence,  charity,  and  good  will 
towards  men.  His  success  in  life  was  better  manifested  in 
the  smiles  and  servility  of  his  many  courteous  friends.  What 
matter  if  he  worked  at  the  loom  when  a  boy  ?  if  he  picked 
up  what  education  he  had  by  the  way-side  ?  the  wealthy, 
liberal  manufacturer  lacked  no  advantages  now. 

This  the  prudent,  politic  Mrs.  Castleman,  a  decayed 
gentlewoman  of  decayed  fortune,  and  decayed  family  ( save 
some  living  branches  entombed  in  large  houses,  accessible 
only  to  choice  spirits),  was  aware  of,  when  she  took  into  the 
bosom  of  her  cloister  of  "genteel  boarders"  the  rich 
widower  ;  and  some  few  months  after,  stirred  up  the  peace 
ful  depths  of  a  heart,  where  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
never  curdled,  but  creamed  up  sweet  and  rich,  with  all  his 
memories  and  hopes  of  woman. 

This  she  fully  realized  whenever  she  sweetened  his  cup — 
whether  it  brimmed  with  the  herb  of  China,  or  her  beautiful 
daughter's  inspiring  presence. 

It  was  a  fine  thing,  Mrs.  Castleman  knew,  to  be  highly 
born  and  bred  ;  of  a  good  family  of  old  Gotham,  even  poor — 
a  distinction  that  gave  her  admittance  into  the  side  door  of 
aristocratical  mansions,  invitations  to  family  festivals,  and 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  11 

to  funerals  in  the  best  society  ;  to  the  marriages,  deaths,  an-1 
to  all  the  christenings  of  an  extensive  juvenile  connection  ; 
also,  the  privilege  of  watching  and  nursing,  in  most  infectious 
cases,  at  the  superb  bedsides  of  her  very  genteel  relatives. 

These  privileges  Mrs.  Castleman  estimated — perhaps  as 
few  gentlewomen  would — an  appreciation  visible  in  every 
turn  of  her  aristocratic  head — in  every  fold  of  her  well-darned 
respectable  gown,  as  she  appeared  among  her  rich  connec 
tions,  humbly,  yet  respectably.  Yet,  the  time  had  come, 
when  she  felt  also  the  inconvenience  attending  her  very 
respectable  blood. 

It  cost  too  much —  not  money,  that  she  did  not  possess  — 
but  too  much  condescension,  and  body  weariness.  She  h;id 
married  at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  without  deriving  great 
advantages  from  the  chnnge  in  her  condition  ;  her  husband 
having  little  with  which  to  maintain  her,  or  at  his  death, 
bequeath  her,  save  his  respectable  name,  and  a  small  infant. 
Since  this  bereavement,  she  had  been  a  source  of  trial  to  her 
relatives  ;  though  no  one  could  bring  accusation  for  any 
known  sin  or  offence,  the  cor.viction  of  which  caused  her  to 
fawn,  cringe,  and  make  herself  useful. 

"  For  most  of  the  world's  favors  there  must  be  an  equiva 
lent,"  suggested  the  experience  of  the  sapient  Mrs.  Castleman, 
whose  physical  and  mental  energies  were  becoming  lax  ;  her 
sycophantic  smiles  turning  into  unmeaning  smirks  ;  her  use 
ful  attentions  into  boring  visits  ;  while  her  honeyed  flattery 
began  to  work — the  sour  to  rise  on  the  sweets  that  rolled 
off  her  saccharine  tongue. 

That  she  had  begun  to  ferment,  was  evident,  though  she 
had  boiled  down  for  thirty  years,  in  the  sugaring  process,  to 
make  herself  palatable  to  her  condescending  friends,  to 
whom  she  had  been  as  long  a  time  a  standing  dish  of  dis 
cussion  at  all  private  family  meetings. 

For  "  poor  Aunt  Castleman  must  be  supported  ; "  and 


12  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

time  aud  trouble,  no  marvel,  had  somewhat  vinegarcd  her 
juicy  nature. 

Roving  hi  an  orbit,  which  but  exposed  her  poverty,  from 
its  brilliancy,  though  seldom  enjoying  its  mid-day  effulgence, 
she  could  not  fail  to  see  that  the  clouds  about  her  setting,  if 
silver  rimmed  in  the  rays  reflected,  still  grew  blacker,  and 
that  the  struggle  she  made  to  re-illumine,  was  but  the 
expiring  effort  of  a  wick,  from  which  the  oil  that  fed  it  was 
departing.  Could  she  have  turned  from  this  blaze  of  bor 
rowed  light,  and  pressed  forward  hi  an  humbler  sphere,  with 
her  energy  and  talent,  she  had  done  well ;  but  there  was 
the  look  back  !  Like  Lot's  wife,  she  could  not  turn  to  a 
pillar  of  salt,  or  she  had  been  crusted  standing  ;  wrapped  in 
her  faded  purple,  gazing  on  the  bright  revolving  wheel,  on 
which  whirled  her  family  connections,  glittering,  shining  in 
silks  and  gems,  she  resting  from  her  toil,  by  which  she  had 
hoped  to  earn  a  counterfeit  for  the  pageant. 

But  should  this  be  the  experience  and  fate  of  her  Elinor, 
who,  in  the  discarded  habiliments  of  her  proud  rich  friends, 
outshone  them  all  ?  Could  her  beauty,  her  birth,  save  her 
from  toil  more  laborious  than  that  of  the  menial  who  works 
for  bread  ?  Could  she  forget  that  from  her  days  of  early 
widowhood,  she  had  been  cramped,  fettered,  chained  down 
by  the  silver  links  that  had  made  her  a  slave  to  the  rich 
benefactors,  from  whom  she  had  received  bounty  and  con 
descension  ? 

There  was  an  alternative — one  loophole  of  escape,  a  rich 
but  "  vulgar  match."  Such  Mrs.  Castleman  deemed  an 
alliance  with  the  worthy  manufacturer.  But  she  was  a 
woman  of  calculation,  as  well  as  policy.  The  scales  were 
adjusted.  Wealth  and  Mr.  Archibald  Miller  lay  heavily  on 
one — patronising  connections,  their  charities,  and  long  looked 
for  legacies,  poised  the  other. 

Which  should  be  the  portion  of  the  radiant  Elinor  ?     The 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  13 

weight  of  a  mother's  cupidity  was  added  to  the  golden  scale. 
With  a  bound,  poverty  went  up.  The  motes  in  the  sun 
beams  turned  to  jewelled  drops,  and  gathered  in  a  crown  on 
the  head  of  her  child. 

This  was  but  a  vision,  yet  a  bright  one  to  the  victim  of 
pride  and  poverty,  whose  slavish  dependence  had  cankered 
her  heart,  and  made  humiliating  her  widowed  life.  It  was 
a  sweet  morsel  to  roll  under  her  tongue,  that  for  her  only 
child,  she  could  secure  independence.  She  considered  her 
self,  and  was  resigned  to  it,  a  recipient  for  life. 

Mrs.  Castleman  drew  about  her  shrunken  form  a  time- 
honored  shawl,  laid  her  aristocratic  head  upon  an  old 
tapestried  chair,  and  while  rubbing  back  and  forth  on  her 
skinny  finger,  an  old  family  ring,  brought  herself,  with 
powerful  throes,  to  the  deliverance  of  her  burden.  The 
pride  that  had  sustained  and  consoled  her  in  all  her  woes 
was  now  a  cast-off  load.  The  aristocracy  of  wealth  she  had 
despised,  as  such  a  proud  woman  could  "  vulgarity  ;"  now, 
she  fled  for  refuge  to  the  golden  calf,  and  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  to  it  caste  and  her  idolized  child. 

With  her  sagacious  eye,  she  discovered  the  preference  of 
Mr.  Miller  for  her  daughter,  exhibited  only  in  the  fervid 
glance  that  dared 'not  rest  on  her  face,  but  fitfully  wan 
dered,  stealthily  catching  the  gleams  of  hers.  She  saw, 
too,  that  with  uneasy  restlessness,  foreign  to  his  bearing,  he 
marked  the  devotion  of  others  to  her,  whom  he  presumed 
not  to  address,  and  that  the  diffidence  and  unassuming 
character  of  the  man,  alone  prevented  him  from  seeking 
Elinor  in  marriage. 

And  she  was  partly  right,  though  weightier  objections 
aupse  in  the  widower's  mind  combating  his  love.  Mr. 
Archibald  Miller  believed,  rich  as  he  was,  influential  as  he 
might  be  in  the  commercial  world,  that  Elinor  Castleman 
felt  above  him  in  position  ;  that  in  education — thanks  to  a 


14  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

rich  uncle — though  but  a  girl  of  seventeen,  she  surpassed 
him  ;  that  she  visited  in  circles  which  he  had  never  entered, 
and  more  than  this,  that  she  received  the  devoted  attentions 
of  another,  suitable  in  age,  as  brilliant,  as  highly  educated 
as  herself. 

At  the  table,  among  her  mother's  "  select  friends "  (she 
never  called  them  boarders,  excepting  in  advertisements), 
Elinor  was  not  seen,  and  but  a  choice  few  were  ever  invited 
into  her  presence — the  retired  parlor,  which  she  graced 
proudly,  as  if  in  a  court  circle,  receiving  her  worshipers. 
Those  most  privileged  at  the  present  period,  were  young 
Hugh  Shelbourne  and  the  rich,  unassuming  widower  :  the 
first  fascinating  the  daughter  ;  the  latter,  being  indispens 
able,  from  his  experience  in  the  world,  to  the  widow,  whose 
demands  upon  his  sympathy  and  counsel,  only  equalled  those 
upon  his  liberal  purse. 

Good,  patient,  Mr.  Miller  !  Who  else  would  appreciate 
as  he  did,  the  multiplicity  of  her  trials,  from  the  accumula 
tion  of  debts,  iarge  and  small — the  tyranny  and  exactions 
of  landlords,  butchers,  and  bakers — her  outgoings  and 
shortcomings — her  poverty  in  purse,  and  her  wealth  in  great 
ancestry  ?  and  how  few  would  so  generously,  delicately  state, 
not  hint,  that  he  was  willing  and  glad  to  relieve  her  by  an 
advance,  meeting  the  exigencies  of  the  case  ;  while  at  the 
Fame  time  he  so  handsomely  (rather  briefly  she  sometimes 
thought)  closed  the  conference  by  giving  her  a  bank 
note. 

Mrs.  Castleman  found  no  such  friend  among  her  family 
connections,  and  daily  drew  the  credulous  man  more  into 
her  confidence. 

Never  had  he  pitied  woman  more  ;  yet  never  felt  he  more 
unfeignedly,  that  the  daughter  was  a  being  far  beyond  his 
hopes.  The  widower,  with  all  his  bonds,  mortgages,  his 
real  estate,  and  bank  stock — his  boy  of  ten  years,  and  his 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  15 

fifteen  of  seniority,  considered  himself  no  match  for  youtff, 
beauty,  and  "  family  ;"  and  but  for  the  trials  of  the  widow, 
her  yearnings,  and  her  discontent,  he  had  been  still  unpre- 
suming  ;  and  the  young  lady  herself  insensible  to  the  pros 
pects  in  store  for  her. 

She  was  yet  too  young  to  balance  without  help,  the  scales 
that  had  decided  the  maternal  head.  Besides,  she  was 
occupied  with  Hugh,  to  whom  she  had  given,  in  exchange 
for  a  whole  heart,  a  promise,  some  day,  of  her  hand  ;  he 
believing  the  transfer  equal,  and  most  people,  who  had  seen 
them  together,  supposing  a  chance  offered,  might  have 
imbibed  the  same  opinion.  Hugh  Shelbourne,  at  nineteen, 
was  in  love,  as  a  man  rarely  is  twice.  He  said  little  of  his 
passion,  but  it  leaped  with  his  pulses  ;  while  with  eye,  soul, 
and  lip,  he  met  the  flutterings  of  an  unawakened  heart ; 
coquetry  and  vanity  he  mistook  for  a  full  return  ;  the 
mounting  crimson  of  gratified  pride  for  the  sympathy  he 
sought.  Sincere,  ardent,  and  hopeful,  he  believed  Elinor 
all  she  seemed  ;  while  he  worshiped  her  seductive  beauty, 
believing  he  had  her  heart's  gold. 

Yet  reserve  marked  their  intercourse  before  Mr.  Miller, 
and  the  latter  felt  no  sting  of  reproach  when  the  widow 
revealed  to  his  vision  a  prospect  so  alluring,  as  an  alliance 
with  her  daughter — a  communication  made  with  "  embar 
rassment,"  and  with  "  confidence,"  causing,  as  we  before 
stated,  some  excitement  of  the  manufacturer's  mind,  as  he 
came  forth  from  her  "  private  sitting  room." 

How  mistaken  he  had  been  in  the  bearing  of  her  child  I 
How  strange  he  had  never  discovered  the  secret  preference 
the  mother  acknowledged  had  so  long  possessed  her  heart 
— a  preference  so  well  concealed  from  him  ! 

Delicate,  shrinking  flower.  He  would  seek  it,  woo  it,  wear 
it.  Mr.  Miller  was  no  longer  the  reserved,  deliberate  coun 
sellor,;  but  impulsive,  excited  ;  and  as  liberal  as  if  the 


THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

widow's  debts  were  his  own  ;  as  if  the  payment  of  his  board 
could  never  be  cancelled — dwelling  with  her  as  he  did,  just 
for  "protection  and  company." 

How  confidential  they  grew  !  mingling  such  strange  lia 
bilities,  as  falling  in  debt,  and  falling  in  love  ;  the  widower 
becoming  endorser  and  paymaster  out  of  the  goodness  of  his 
big  heart  (softened  unwittingly)  while  talking  of  her  child. 
Contemptuously  she  laughed  at  Elinor's  liking  for  Hugh, 
wincing  and  squeezing  her  old  ring  at  his  allusion  to  "  hum 
ble  birth  and  connections,"  piteously  groaning  "poor  thing  1" 
when  he  spoke  of  his  lovely  wife  and  her  early  death — a 
topic  which  led  to  disparity  in  years,  calling  forth  youthful 
efforts  from  the  politic  lady,  who  suddenly  reflected  on  her 
own  possible  chances  for  matrimony. 

But  a  gray  lock  protruded.  She  saw  that  the  widower's 
were  brown,  and  with  a  sigh,  covered  her  withered  cheek, 
nevertheless,  rejoicing  that  she  would  always,  if  never  again 
a  wife,  be  the  very  respectable  relict  of  Peter  Castleman. 

Seeing  that  her  companion  was  obtuse  on  these  points,  so 
tender  to  her,  she  deemed  it  politic,  not  to  risk  a  certainty, 
for  a  possibility  remote  ;  and  although  she  might  sacrifice  a 
daughter,  she  could  not  lower  herself.  Objections  accord 
ingly  were  plausibly  waived,  and  Mr.  Miller,  convinced  that 
Mrs.  Castlemau  had  sought  her  child's  welfare,  though  she 
paved  the  way  to  it  by  a  step  so  agitating.  And  before  he 
left  the  fond  parent,  struggling  with  life's  necessities,  and 
exciting  emotions  for  her  daughter's  happiness,  he  felt 
deeply  for  one  whose  delicacy  he  blindly  believed  had  almost 
checked  the  utterance  of  truths  so  sweet — so  delicious  to 
him,  and  reiterated  with  fervor,  the  promise  never  to  reveal 
the  confession  she  had  made. 

"  It  would  shock  and  distress  her,"  she  plaintively  mur 
mured. 

"  I  could  not  be  so  dishonorable." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  17 

"  She  needs  a  protector  older  than  herself." 

"  And  could  she,  so  young,  consent  to  be  a  step-mother  ?" 

"  Affectionate  child  !  she  dotes  on  children." 

"  She  must  hare  known  I  needed  but  this  encourage 
ment." 

"  And  you  have  long  thought  of  her  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  the  intelligence  you  have  imparted,  could 
have  given  me  courage  to  make  proposals  of  marriage  to 
her." 

"  But  you  will  await  my  time,  sir  ;  the  dear  girl  will  be  so 
unprepared.  Could  you  not  pave  the  way  by  some  gift  on 
her  birth-day  ?"  said  Mrs.  Castleman,  hesitatingly. 

"  Nothing  would  afford  me  more  pleasure.  Allow  me  to 
be  your  banker,  while  you  suit  her  taste.  She  might  like  a 
new  bonnet,  or  a  work-bag." 

"  Something  which  she  could  treasure  as  a  lasting  memo 
rial,"  interposed  the  widow,  shrinkingly. 

Mr.  Miller  thought  of  a  garnet  ring  his  mother  used  to 
wear,  also  one  of  jets,  and  a  gold  one,  in  which  two  hands 
clasped  ;  and  wondered  if  he  could  find  them,  in  his  extrem 
ity.  Not  that  he  grudged  the  money  to  buy  the  most  costly 
present  for  his  future  wife,  but  he  was  not  accustomed  to 
such  purchases. 

He  had  unlocked  for  and  timely  assistance  in  his  dilemma; 
and  that  night  it  was  agreed  he  should  accompany  Mrs. 
Castleman  to  a  jeweler's,  which  appointment  was  faithfully 
kept  ;  she,  after  an  hour's  examination  of  various  jewel 
cases,  coming  forth  with  two,  each  modest  looking — one  for 
her  daughter,  and  another,  with  a  little  black  cover,  which 
might,  Mr.  Miller  thought,  be  a  pair  of  scissors,  or  thimble, 
for  herself ;  he  being  ignorant,  until  the  evening  of  the  next 
day,  when  the  bill  was  presented,  of  the  contents  of  either. 

He  paid  the  amount,  thinking  of  the  beautiful  neck  and 
arms  the  ruby  necklace  and  bracelets  would  adorn,  wonder 


18  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

ing,  meanwhile,  at  the  widow's  exquisite  taste,  aiid  on  what 
occasion  she  expected  to  wear  her  own  set  of  pearls. 

He  had  promised  obedience  to  Mrs.  Castleman's  measures, 
for  the  promotion  of  his  wishes — consenting  to  endure  a 
week  of  suspense,  before  he  met  the  bearer  of  his  birth-day 
gift. 

He  went  home  with  the  widow,  and  her  two  little  morocco 
cases,  and  fell  a-dreaming,  strange  as  it  might  be,  not  of 
Elinor,  but  of  his  dead  Lucy,  with  a  little  gold  ring  upon 
her  finger,  on  which  was  engraved  his  name  with  hers. 

But  while  he  gazed,  the  vision  changed  ;  and  before  him 
stood  the  mother  of  his  chosen  bride.  It  was  an  ugly 
dream,  for  her  look  was  sordid,  as  she  seemed  to  say,  while 
holding  a  casket — "  Give — give  me  more  1 " 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  19 


CHAPTER    II. 

riTVEIE   mother  and   daughter   soon   met — the   latter  in 

1  ignorance  of  the  recent  negotiation  preliminary  to 
her  matrimonial  settlement.  She  was  in  a  desirable  humor 
for  its  accomplishment  ;  having  just  received  information, 
which  greatly  disappointed  her,  relative  to  the  will  of  a 
deceased  uncle,  from  whom  she  had  been  taught  to  expect  a 
rich  legacy. 

Chagrined,  and  vexed,  she  was  the  representation  of  ill 
humor,  as  she  sat  tapping  her  foot  upon  the  carpet,  with  a 
crushing  look,  that  threatened  at  least  the  worsted  roses 
beneath  her  feet.  If  her  beautiful  features  could  be  made 
ugly  by  Expression,  the  experiment  was  tested.  Her  white, 
clear  brow  was  knit  between  its  arches,  over  a  pair  of  eyes 
dark,  blue  and  flashing — the  look  of  scorn  and  anger  they 
wore  hi  unison  with  the  haughty  curve  of  her  scarlet  lips, 
which  seemed  never  to  have  uttered  a  soft,  much  less  a 
loving  word. 

But  what  her  face  lost,  her  form  gained  hi  the  violence  of 
her  emotion.  That  she  could  not  distort ;  for  the  passion 
she  revealed,  but  made  more  visible  its  expressive  proportions. 
Rich  hi  fullness,  yet  light,  elastic,  she  stood,  dilating,  with 
wrathful  feeling. 

'The  coming  of  her  mother  only  aggravated  the  rage  of 
the  afflicted  Elinor,  increasing  to  vehement  demonstration 
her  anger. 

Turning  towards  her  blirtid  parent,  who  held  the  gift,  she 


20  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

exclaimed,  with  an  energetic  motion  of  her  hand  and  foot — 
"  Thus  have  we  been  treated  by  every  Castleman  who  ever 
lived  or  died.  This  last  defunct  specimen  of  a  niggardly 
race,  has  proved  himself  but  a  sample  of  the  rest.  I  would 
like  to  write  his  epitaph,  and  for  ever  renounce  a  name  I  have 
learned  to  hate." 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake,  my  dear  ;  I  am  sure  your 
Uncle  Tom  would  have  been  more  considerate  of  the  relict  of 
Ms  deceased  brother,  and  her  orphan  child,  than  to  have 
disinherited  us,"  said  Mrs.  Castleman,  reading  the  tale  of 
disappointment  in  Elinor's  face. 

"  How  can  we  be  disinherited  of  property  to  which  we 
had  no  claim  ?  " 

"  But  you  know,  my  love,  we  had  expectations." 

"  And  so  had  his  dollish  wife,  to  whom  he  has  left  all  his 
estate.  You  have  led  me  to  look  for  something  handsome 
from  him,  the  mean  dotard,  confidently  as  I  now  expect 
the  sun  to  rise  on  another  day  of  poverty  and  degrada 
tion." 

"  And  I  nursed  him  through  all  his  malignant  cases  !" 

"  Thank  God,  I  never  spoiled  my  eyes  or  complexion  for 
him,  that  is  one  satisfaction  ;  but  I  forget,  the  poor  widowed 
sister  has  been  remembered." 

"  Thank  the  Father  of  all  mercies  ! " 

"  Don't  begin  blessing,  in  your  Irish  way,  too  soon,"  said 
the  exasperated  girl,  "  unless  you  wish  to  praise  God,  and 
your  liberal  benefactor,  for  a  toddy  kettle  of  one  of  your 
great  ancestors." 

"He  knew  my  veneration  for  antiques,  though  money 
would  have  been  more  acceptable,  and  quite  soothing  to  my 
grief.  But  it  will  not  be  politic  for  us  to  betray  our  dissa 
tisfaction  (the  widow  inwardly  raved),  and  as  he  was  so 
long  a-dying,  it  can't  be  expected  we  go  into  the  deepest  of 
mourning.  And  as  destiny,  or^rather  a  kind  Providence, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  21 

has  provided  you  with  unlooked-for  mercies,  we  can  mourn 
as  those  not  without  hope  !" 

"And  Sister  Castleman  can  conform  as  she  has  done, 
'  to —  circumstances.'  But  what,  pray,  are  my  unlocked  for 
mercies  ?  A  scant  brocade  of  the  last  century,  from  Mrs. 
Tom  Castleman,  or  a  chance  as  a  governess  in  my  illustrious 
relative's  family  ?  " 

"  Be  patient,  Elinor  !  this  is  not  the  last  chance.  Your 
Aunt  Sally  can't  last  long  1 "  groaned  Mrs.  Castleman,  for 
the  moment  forgetting  her  daughter's  prospects.  "  A  little 
money  would  have  come  very  convenient  at  this  time  ;  they 
cannot  do  less  than  to  send  us  both  respectable  black.  It 
will  be  such  a  stylish  funeral,  we  must  not  miss  of  it.  I 
suppose  the  coffin  will  be  solid  wood,  and  silver  mounted, 
and  even  the  horses  wear  vails.  If  your  uncle  had  been 
more  liberal,  I  would  have  doubled  my  crape." 

"But  you  think  one  thickness  enough  for  a  toddy  kettle," 
interposed  the  sarcastic  beauty.  "  I  would  advise  you  to 
have  your  cap  made  at  the  undertakers." 

"My  dear,  we  must  not  forget  the  family  and  all  iti 
branches  will  be  in  bombazine  and  crape.  Your  Aunt 
Tom's  mourning  will  cover  her  whole  skirt." 

"  And  Sister  Castleman's  her  whole  cloak,"  emphasized 
Elinor,  "which  conceals  her  envious  hatred  of  the  whole 
race  of  survivors.  But  I  shall  have  one  consolation,  when 
the  last  leg  of  the  whole  male  generation  is  laid  out,  that  I 
never  made  one  humble  obeisance  for  a  farthing  belonging 
to  them.  I  did  promise  to"  be  introduced  this  winter,  by 
Mrs.  Sylvester  Castleman,  but  it  was  with  the  expectation 
of  taking  down  the  colors  of  her  most  amiable  daughter 
Alice." 

"  There  will  be  no  impropriety  in  your  coming  out  when 
you  get  into  black  beads  and  purp"le  roses.  I  can  dip  your 
moss-buds  into  sugar  paper,  and  bring  them  out  fresh  as 


22  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

violets.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  vinegar  up  niy  old  crape 
— but  it  is  a  bad  time  to  get  up  a  coloring,  the  day  of  the 
funeral.  ^ 

"  It  don't  take  you  long  to  get  up  a  coloring  ;  but  I'll  be 

annihilated  if  I'll  be  dipped  in  any  black  vat,  or  go  in  any 

dye  for  this  funeral.     I  sometimes  think  I  will  marry  the  first 

rich  suitor,  be  he  tar  or  tailor.   .  I  was  as  sure  of  a  legacy 

'  from  Uncle  Tom,  as  I  was  of  seeing  his  pomposity  buried." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  corpse,  and  how  the  family  take 
it.  It  will  be  a  good  thing  that  his  drinking  is  put  a  stop 
to.  I  feel  slighted  not  to  have  been  sent  for,  if  it  was  only 
for  the  looks.  But  I'm  not  going  to  be  cheated  out  of 
everything,  if  I  ajn  poor.  The  time  was,  when  I  should 
have  been  woke  up,  if  it  was  in  the  dead  of  night.  It  won't 
take  long  to  brush  up  my  old  lutestring,  and  get  down  my 
black  Navarino,  and  go  around  and  see  the  goings-on.  Such 
a  waste  of  expense  as  there  will  be — well,  it's  none  of  my 
business,  maybe  he'll  leave  a  poor  widow  after  all.  But  it 
won't  do  to  say  so.  I'll  just  slip  around." 

"  Bring  me  a  daguerreotype  of  the  old  miser  ;  and  make 

£*         my  adieus  to  the  uncoffined  members,  hoping  them  all  a 

similar  fate  before  I  ever  tread  another  of  their  salons. 

Pray  what  have  you  there,  and  what  important  news  for 

roe  ?"  questioned  Elinor,  imperiously. 

The  face  of  her  mother  changed,  and  with  a  show  of  her 
teeth,  opened  the  jewel  case,  and  held  up  before  her 
daughter's  eyes  a  superb  necklace,  pin,  and  bracelet. 

With  haughty  condescension,  Elinor  took  the  ornaments, 
and  laid  them  against  her  neck. 

"  Pray  whose  are  these.?" 

"  Yours,  my  love — a  birthday  gift  from  Mr.  Miller,  who 
hopes  you  will  accept  them  as  a  token  of  his  admiration, 
and  with  his  wishes  for  your  future  welfare  and  happi 
ness." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  23 

"  Impertinence  1"  throwing  down  the  jewels,  "  does  he 
presume  to  insult  me  ?  the  low  born  clodhopper  1" 

"  My  child,"  said  Mrs.  Castleman,  speaking  nervously, 
"  if  it  was  not  for  going  to  see  your  Uncle  Tom,  I  could  tell 
you  enough  to  make  your  mouth  water.  My  dear  love ;  I  do 
want  you  to  be  Mrs  Archibald  Miller,  and  shine  '  in  your 
own  coronet.'  Elinor,  you  are  mad  to  scorn  such  a  match  : 
do  you  know  he  is  up  to  his  eyes  in  money,  and  ready  to 
endow  you  with  it  ?" 

"  And  his  fustian  self  in  the  bargain  ?" 

"He  really  loves  you,  and  although  not  exactly  of  our 
set — he  will  not  be  invited  I  suppose  to  the  funeral — still 
you  can  polish  him,  and  in  time  raise  him  up  to  the 
Castlemans." 

"  How  can  you  talk  so,  mamma  ?  you,  who  have  fed  me 
with  '  blood '  and  '  breeding '  with  my  baby  pap,  till  I  have 
sickened,  revolted,  and  finally  learned  to  feast  on  the  sham 
food,  and  believe  it  necessary  to  my  existence  !  You  talk 
to  me  of  marrying  a  rich  mushroom  ;  a  man  who  has 
acquired  his  fortune  making  broadcloth  !  Is  it  for  such 
grand  estate  you  have  kept  me  so  secluded  from  your 
household  of  'men  feeders,'  as  you  have  wished  me  to 
consider  them,  all  but  Hugh  ?  So  your  intimacy  has 
resulted  in  this,  has  it?  Why,  bless  me,  I  thought  he 
was  addressing  you,  mamma  ?" 

"  You  know,  my  dear,  that  I  do  not  approve  of  second 
marriages.  I  shall  always  be  a  relict.  Indeed,  I  should  feel 
reluctant  to  ever  lose  the  name  of  Castleman.  By  the  way, 
I  wonder  in  which  room  they  have  put  your  Uncl^  Tom.'  % 
He'll  make  a  very  stately  corpse — but  speaking  of  Mr, 
Miller,  I  must  say  I  never  gave  him  any  encouragement  to 
think  that  I  could  enter  again  into  any  precarious,  I  mean 
conjugal  relation  ;  but  for  you,  Elinor,  it  is  time  you  released 
your  hold  on  the  Castleman  estate,  and  clung  to  another 


24  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

less  airy,  I  have  weighed  the  matter,"  said  the  mother, 
holding  up  her  hands,  as  if  in  one  she  held  a  soap  bubble, 
and  in  the  other  a  golden  pumpkin,  and  "  I  would  have 
you,"  said  she,  shaking  the  rubies,  to  which  she  added  the 
pearls,  "  buy  your  own  trinkets  and  ride  in  your  own  chaise. 
Is  not  this  better  than  gallivanting  with  a  boy,"  she  now 
whispered,  stretching  her  goose-skin  neck,  "poor  as  we  are  ?" 

Elinor  Castlernan  crimsoned  to  the  temples,  to  hear  Hugh 
Shelbourne  thus  spoken  of.  She  felt  that  it  was  too  true, 
and  yet  how  rich  in  intellect,  in  heart,  in  love  for  her  ! 

"Can  I  not  have  a  flirtation,"  she  replied,  "without  my 
prospects  being  periled  ? — apropos,  we  go  to-night  to  the 
Opera,  I  like  this  pin.  How  it  would  enrage  Hugh  to 
have  me  accept  these  ornaments." 

"  Mr.  Miller  is  worth  a  million." 

"  Poverty  1  poverty,  it  is  a  temptation  to  bid  you  flee  I" 
As  Elinor  spoke,  she  walked  with  a  stately  step  towards  an 
old  fashioned  mirror.  In  doing  so,  she  tripped  hi  a  worn 
place  in  the  carpet,  betraying  the  penury  of  the  household. 
With  her  dainty  foot  she  contemptuously  raised  the  tattered 
woolen,  then  trampling  it  down,  tossed  her  superb  head, 
making  more  grand  the  setting,  as  it  capped  its  white 
pedestal.  Beneath,  a  bank  of  snow  rose  and  fell,  as  pride 
swelled  her  bosom.  Her  beautiful  form,  she  fancied, 
adorned  with  costly  magnificence  ;  her  neck  and  arms 
flashing  with  jewels.  Thus  she  could  enter  the  arena  of 
fashion,  secure  of  conquest,  bringing  to  her  feet  the 
proudest,  who  now  looked  upon  her  in  pity  for  her  dependent 
situation. 

To  Elinor  Castleman  this  was  a  vision  that  bedewed  her 

«iyes,  and  sent  a  throbbing  flood  to  her  heart.     Her  look 

was  cast,  as  she  turned  from  her  own  person,  upon  that  of 

er  parent,  around  whose  sunken  cheeks  fell  lace,  old  and 

well-darned,  about  whose  shrunken  form  folded  the  scant 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  25 

breadths  of  a  deceased  relative's  gown,  and  whose  thin  lips 
ever  stretched  into  a  beseeching  smirk,  bespeaking  the 
genteel,  but  proud  beggar.  Coursing  still,  her  eye  marked 
the  wholly  cautious,  politic  demeanor  of  her  mother, 
betrayed  alike  in  the  soft,  dulcet  tones  of  her  voice,  and  in 
the  sleek,  cat-like  clasp  of  her  small  thin  fingers,  as  she 
ever  extended  them  to  people  of  "  respectability  " — letting 
them  slide  down  her  old  silk  folds,  at  the  approach  of  such 
as  came  not  within  the  pale  of  the  aristocrdBi  circle,  in 
which  she  kept  her  own  birth,  if  creeping,  cringing  at  the 
door. 

Not  so,  Elinor  ;  proud  as  she  was  by  nature,  proud  by 
education,  she  had  ever  incurred  the  enmity  of  such  as 
would  befriend  and  patronize  her — scorning  their  second 
hand  gifts,  scorning  their  well-meant  favors,  scorning  even 
the  relationship  of  those  who  only  sought  her  society,  as 
they  did  that  of  her  mother — for  charity's  sake. 

She  would  be  courted,  and  won,  for  herself.  She  chose 
not  to  shine  by  reflected  light ;  and  nothing  enraged  her 
more  than  to  be  introduced  as  the  niece  or  cousin  of  a  dis 
tinguished  relative.  The  adoration  of  Hugh  Shelbourne 
was,  therefore,  luxury  to  her  exacting  temperament,  and  the 
romance  of  his  ardent  love,  intoxicating  to  her  pride  and 
vanity.  She  knew  that  for  her  he  had  sacrificed  rich  offers 
of  independence,  and  preferred  to  commence  a  life  of  intel 
lectual  toil  instead,  with  the  remuneration  of  her  hand  in 
prospect.  Yet  would  not  years  intervene  before  he  could 
gratify  her  love  of  position  and  wealth,  enabling  her  to 
effect  her  ambitious  schemes  ? 

With  such  passing  thoughts,  still  looking  at  the  jewels, 
Elinor  turned  towards  her  mother,  who  had  now  commenced 
arranging  her  funereal  robes,  and  said  lightly,  thinking 
deeper,  twirling  the  ruby  bracelet : 

"  I  have  hardly  looked  at  this  Miller.  You  ordered  me 
2 


26  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

to  be  civil,  and  supposing  him  your  prime  minister,  I 
obeyed.  But  this  talk  of  elevating  one  of  his  calibre,  is  a 
task  not  for  me.  ^  If  I  marry  him  homespun,  he  will  remain 
homespun.  And  so  you  think  this  man  of  wool  would  be 
very  generous  in  his  equivalent  for  this  very  pretty 
hand?" 

"  Don't  affect  childishness,  Elinor  ;  you  know  your  great 
fault  is  too  ripe  maturity.  In  fact,  you  never  was  a  child, 
even  in  yoi^jnfancy.  I  gave  up  trying  to  subject  you  after 
the  first  three  years  of  your  life  ;  and  now,  if  you  say  you 
won't  marry  Mr.  Miller,  why  I  see  no  way  but  for  us  both  to 
die  in  poverty,  though,  as  I  before  said,  there's  your  Aunt 
Sally.  I  wonder  who  will  have  your  Uncle  Tom's  old  clothets  ? 
Life  is  so  uncertain,  as  your  father  used  to  say.  How  little 
I  ever  thought  that  I  should  be  the  relict  of  Peter  Castle- 
man,  or  that  your  Uncle  Tom  would  ever  see  his  end." 

"  And  leave  you  a  toddy-kettle,"  said  Elinor,  mimicking 
her  mother's  mock  solemnity. 

"  That's  true,  my  daughter,"  went  on  Mrs.  Castleman,  now 
standing  before  the  glass  with  a  crape  vail  thrown  over  her 
face,  to  see  the  thickness  and  depth  of  its  mourning. 
"  Death  comes  like  a  thief ;  but  if  you  marry  Mr.  Miller, 
and  be  left  a  relict " 

"But  what,"  said  Elinor,  impatiently,  "has  this  wise 
harangue  to  do  with  the  question — to  marry  or  not  to  marry 
this  manufacturer  ?  I  am  in  a  desperate  mood  to-day,  from 
this  miserly  treatment.  This  hanging  on  like  despicable 
toadies  to  the  skirts  of  rich  relations  is  slavery,  that  I,  for 
one,  will  not  submit  to  !  What  are  you  but  a  shadow,  fol 
lowing  these  Castlemans,  who  have,  every  one,  root  and 
branch,  snobbed  you  since  my  father's  death.  By  the  way, 
after  the  funeral  you  had  better  bring  home  your  legacy  ; 
you  will  have  a  chance  to  ride  in  the  Widow  Tom's  carriage, 
if  you  brush  up  your  raven  plumage." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  27 

"Do  be  quiet,  Elinor,"  said  Mrs.  Castleman,  her  slight 
frame  fluttering.  "I  am  so  confused !  What  will  be 
expected  of  me,  so  connected  as  I  am  ?  It  will  be  such  a 
stylish  funeral.  It  makes  it  so  bad,  his  dying  without  any 
preparation — without  even  a  black  bordered  handkerchief. 
Now,  if  you  will  only  let  me  say  to  Mr.  Miller — we  ought  to 
say  something  handsome  " — Mrs.  'Castleman  put  her  hand  to 
her  forehead — "  that  his  dazzling  gift  is  as^^ceptable  to 
your  taste,  as  the  owner  will  be  to  your  g 
can  then  ask  a  small  advance  on  his  board." 

With  a  deeper  flush  on  her  brilliant  cheek,  Elinox 
exclaimed,  tossing  her  head,  "  I  will  have  none  of  this  con 
temptible  beggary,  showing  the  paucity  of  our  means  1  My 
mind  is  made  up — I  will  marry  Mr.  Miller  1 " 

"You  always  was  a  sensible  child.  I  remember  when 
you  was  but  three  weeks  old,  how  decided  you  looked 
around  the  room.  But,  I  beg  of  you  to  be  discreet,  and  not 
offend  anybody.  Hugh  might  be  useful  to  you  some  day,  so 
make  it  as  easy  refusing  him  as  you  can,  and  as  Mr.  Miller 
is  a  widower,  it  won't  be  necessary  to  be  bashful  about 
hurrying  matters.  The  quicker  it  is  over  the  better." 

"  Make  it  easy  for  Hugh,"  thought  Elinor,  walking  the 
room,  while  her  mother  put  a  black  vail  over  her  Navarino, 
and  after  tying  about  her  neck  a  piece  of  rusty  crape,  went 
forth  to  see  the  corpse. 

Soon  after",  the  door-bell  rung,  and  a  young  man  came 
forward  unexpectedly  to  Elinor,  and  putting  his  arm  about 
her  waist,  said,  while  the  down  of  his  beardless  chin  touched 
her  face,  "  Elinor,  are  you  afflicted  with  this  event  ? " 

"  Oh  !  is  it  you,  Hugh  ? "  said  she,  shrinking  from  him, 
embarrassed.  "  At  what  ?  My  uncle's  death  ? — no." 

"  Naughty  girl,  you  won't  go  of  course  to  the  opera  to 
night,  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes." 


28  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  No,  no,  Elinor,  it  will  not  do  ;  it  would  injure  you 
much,  and  look  improper." 

As  Hugh  Shelbourne  stood  back,  speaking  decidedly,  his 
extreme  youth  seemed  less  apparent,  the  fire  and  energy  in 
his  lip  and  eye  giving  character  to  features  wearing  the 
fresh  polish,  and  soft  but  firm  outline  of  early  manhood. 

"  You  look  excited,  flushed.     What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"I  ani^teappointed  1  I  expected  —  but  no  matter." 
Elinor  tu^JPboldly  away. 

"  I  know  your  vexation.  I  met  your,  mother,  who  told 
me.  Don't  be  annoyed  by  this.  You  shall  yet  laugh  at  the 
Castlemans.  I  am  glad  of  it."  The  tone  was  both  playful 
and  earnest.  "  You  were  not  so  frigid  last  night."  Tears 
came  into  Elinor's  eyes.  She  felt  in  that  moment  an  appre 
ciation  of  the  heart  she  was  casting  away.  She  could  not 
then  tell  him  of  her  decision  ;  and  as  if  she  was,  and  would 
be  his,  she  radiated,  warm  and  loving.  It  was  fascinating 
to  such  a  woman  to  have  a  worshiper  like  Hugh  ;  and 
though  she  treated  him  capriciously,  still,  there  was  more  in 
the  denial  of  her  smiles,  than  in  the  surrender  of  twenty 
loving  Juliets.  Hours  flew  swiftly  by ;  Elinor  was  never 
more  charming.  For  the  period,  she  crushed  her  ambition, 
and  drank  feverishly,  as  if  with  desperation,  her  last  cup  of 
love. 

"  You  will  go  with  me  to-night  ?  "  she  whispered.  , 

"  No  !  I  would  not  injure  my  future  wife.  Why  do  you 
wish  to  brave  the  opinion  of  those  who  would  condemn  your 
sense  of  propriety  ?  " 

"  I  care  not  what  I  do  ! "  said  Elinor,  springing  from  the 
form  of  her  lover.  "  Henceforth,  I  care  not  what  I  am. 
Will  you  come,  again  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  understand  your  strange  question — your  strange 
mood.  '  Come  again  ! '  Would  I  not  cross  seas  to  pass 
such  an  hour  as  this  ?  Have  I  not  for'  you  abandoned  my 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  29 

home-— prospects  of  wealth,  from  one  who  would  give  me  an 
inheritance,  for  a  child's  devotion  and  services,  that  I  might 
be  near  you  ? " 

Elinor  hid  her  eyes,  from  which  gushed  passionate  tears. 
She  would  not  be  soothed — she  would  not  explain  or  be 
comforted.  Hugh  left  her,  first  bending  over  her  head, 
parting  her  tumbled  rich  locks,  kissing  her  white  forehead. 

It  may  be  easily  imagined  that  Aunt  Castleman  was  an 
acceptable  visitor  among  her  rich,  stylish  r4(ilves,  where 
Elinor  was  not.  It  was  true  that  most  of  the  visiting  was 
on  her  side  ;  but  then  it  was  done  faithfully  ;  and  when  the 
door  bell  rung  through  their  long,  high  halls,  they  all  knew 
by  its  small  tinkle,  that  it  was  "  nobody  but  Aunt  Castle 
man,"  and  she  having  nothing  to  do  but  to  look  after  her 
few  "  genteel  boarders,"  and  contrive  how  she  could  keep 
body  and  soul  together  through  the  year,  could  call  more 
conveniently  than  they  who  had  to  eat,  instead  of  getting 
great  dinners — no  small  duty,  the  world  knows. 

But  the  proud  Miss  Castleman,  who  took  their  faded 
finery,  as  if  she  conferred,  instead  of  receiving,  a  favor,  was 
odious  to  them  ;  and  none  the  less  to  the  younger  branches 
of  the  Castleman  family,  for  her  acknowledged  beauty,  which 
they  talked  of  less  than  of  her  pride  and  vanity. 

The  sleek,  soft,  silky  widow,  with  her  humble  step,  and 
afflicted  look,  her  tones  cracked  for  the  occasion,  has  whim 
pered  her  condolements,  and  been  ushered  into  the  high, 
sombre  room,  where  each  picture  and  spacious  mirror  is  hung 
like  herself — in  black.  Conducted  by  the  housekeeper,  who 
noiselessly  leads  her  to  the  sable-palled  coffin,  she  glides 
forward  with  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  to  which  she  had 
coaxed  some  tears,  and  bends  over  the  dead  face  of  her 
"  lamented  relative." 

"  Life  is  so  uncertain,"  she  quavered  out,  with  her  small 
whistling  mouth  screwed  down  at  the  corners.  "It  is  a 


30  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

V 

satisfaction  that  he  looks  so  quiet — such  a  blessing  to  the 
afflicted  family  and  connections.     How  natural  1" 

"  His  nose  nsed  to  be  redder.  He  gave  up  stimulants 
afore  he  died,"  said  the  housekeeper,  in  tones  hurriedly 
unfeeling.  "  Have  you  seed  enough,  marm  ?  I  can  tell  you 
all  he's  dressed  in  ;  linen,  flannel,  and  cotton  neck-tie. 
Shall  I  shut  up  ?  It's  onhealthy  stayin'  here.  I  never  keeps 
company  with  sich,  long." 

"  Silk  veltet,  I  suppose  ?"  The  widow  put  on  her  glasses 
to  examine  the  covering. 

"  Yes  ;  and  the  trimming  be  English  crape.  You'll  come 
I  s'pose.  It's  goin'  to  be  grand.  The  bunnets  and  gowns 
is  made,  all  black  as  sin.  You've  been  billeted,  I  expect  ?" 
added  the  superintendent,  who  took  liberties  with  Aunt 
Castleman,  on  account  of  her  meek  look  and  long  buried 
head  gear. 

"They  will  expect  me,  of  course,"  replied  the  afflicted, 
taking  the  handkerchief  from  one  of  her  eyes,  which  she  had. 
robbed  sympathetically  red  ;  and  putting  down  her  crape, 
walked  solemnly  to  each  of  the  solemn  picture-frames,  and 
with  a  solemn  floating  step,  in  to  see  the  mourners  ;  where, 
k  after  passing  some  trembling  eulogies  on  the  deceased,  she 
took  gratefully  and  feelingly,  a  package  of  colored  "  black" 
from  the  sable  weeded,  closeted  new  widow,  and  accepted, 
with  a  falling  tear,  an  invitation  in  the  second  carriage, 
next  the  hearse.  Being  a  "season  of  affliction,"  she  did  not 
stay  at  dinner,  but  went  home  with  a  quicker  step,  hoping 
her  own  had  not  suffered. 

She  found  Elinor  with  eyes  red  and  swollen,  from  whom 
she  hid  her  parcel.  Poor  Mrs.  Castleman  never  lost  any 
friends  or  gifts  from  her  pride  ;  and  one  who  was  fortunate 
enough  to  obtain  a  sight  of  her  trunks  of  old  clothes  and 
tag-rags,  would  have  been  likely,  excepting  from  her 
respectable  bearing,  to  have  suspected  her  honesty.  We 


THROUGH    THE    Wo  OD.  31 

say  she  never  lost  any  favors  from  her  pride,  for  the  reason 
that  it  flowed  only  in  one  channel ;  and  that,  hi  being  the 
relict  of  Peter  Castleman. 

The  evening  of  the  same  day,  Elinor  went  brilliantly 
attired  to  the  Opera,  accompanied  by  one  of  her  admirers. 
The  same  night,  by  especial  request,  her  mother  was 
permitted  to  sit  up  with  the  -late  Hon.  Tom  Castleman. 
Neither  Hugh  or  Mr.  Miller  knew  of  Elinor's  daring  insult 
to  the  memory  of  her  uncle  ;  though  before  he  was  buried, 
it  had  been  reported,  as  she  expected,  to  his  wealthy 
widow. 

The  day  following  she  remained  shut  up  in  her  own 
roonji,  refusing  the  society  of  Hugh,  while  her  mother  spent 
the  early  part  of  it  sewing  on  her  weeds,  sighing  in  discreet 
seclusion,  not  over  her  bereavement,  but  that  she  was  not 
enriched  by  the  will.  Nevertheless,  chewing  the  cud  of 
consolation,  that  humbled  as  she  was,  her  child,  by  a 
wealthy  alliance,  could  buy  the  independence  which  would 
enable  them  both  to  live  in  the  style  of  their  relatives.  She 
knew  that  Elinor  had  alienated  herself  from  her  father's 
family  ;  and  although  a  secret  advocate  of  the  anticipated 
connection,  she  determined  to  openly  express  her  grief  to 
them  at  such  a  mesalliance. 

She  did  not  return  from  the  house  of  mourning  until  late 
at  night — feeling  grateful  for  the  privilege  of  putting  away 
exposed  valuables,  and  in  setting  things  in  order,  while  the 
new  crape  and  bombazine  went  up  stairs  with  its  fashionable 
wearer,  who,  with  well  feigned  grief,  also  laid  aside  with 
propriety,  for  a  drinking,  cross  old  husband. 

A  different  scene  was  enacted  that  night  in  the  poorly 
adorned  home  of  Sister  Castleman.  Hugh  Shelbourne,  with 
his  young,  warm  heart,  believed  and  trusted  in  the  faith  of 
FUaor,  grieving,  not  with  anger  at  her  caprices ;  believing 


32  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

if  it  did  rain,  snow,  and  blow,  that  the  sun  would  shine  out 
the  warmer  for  fitful  gusts. 

But  to-night  she  met  him  with  strange  friendliness.  Still 
he  did  not  like,  that  while  she  turned  not  aside  her  beautiful 
lip,  from  it  should  fall  such  cold  appellations,  as  friend 
and  brother,  to  which  Hugh  at  first  laughed  and  then 
chilled. 

It  was,  to  do  Elinor  Castleman  justice,  hard  for  her  to  ice 
the  way  to  her  frozen  declaration — to  prepare  Hugh  for 
what  might  stun  him.  It  was  certainly  kind  in  her  to 
attempt  it.  The  news  of  a  friend's  death  comes  less 
suddenly  with  accounts  of  illness  ;  it  is  better  to  see  a  loved 
one  die  before  the  lowering  of  the  coffin  ;  and  so  it^was 
better  for  the  young  heart  of  Hugh  Shelbourne,  to  know 
that  his  Elinor  could  look  him  in  the  eye,  hers  blue,  dark 
and  undimmed,  while  she  spoke  her  cold  words. 

Ice  bolts  they  were  not,  yet  such  they  seemed,  as  they 
came,  freezing,  chilling  his  blood,  which  curdled  round  his 
heart,  to  there  beat  and  throb,  nearly  bursting  its  tenement 
— coursing  back  in  its  channels — rushing  to  his  brain.  As 
the  strong  man  reels  when  the  more  fragile  stands  the 
blow  of  suffering,  so  Hugh  Shelbourne  staggered  when 
Elinor  told  him,  with  staring  eyes — seeing  nothing  through 
a  film  of  darkness — with  a  voice  harsh  and  cruelly  modulated 
(for  she  had  sobbed  it  dry  and  husky),  that  their  love  was 
child's-play  ;  that  she  could  not  marry  a  poor  man  ;  that 
she  must  bid  him  go  from  her,  never  seek  her  more,  never*** 
hope  to  wed  her  ;  that  it  was  her  own  decision  ;  that  she 
did  not  love  him,  and  could  not  wait  for  the  gold  she 
needed. 

It  was  strange,  perhaps,  Hugh  should  be  so  uncivil ;  to 
utter  no  word — not  to  oppose  or  agree  with  her,  but  to  sit 
still,  growing  paler,  his  features  sharper,  his  deep  eyes 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  33 

bloodshot,  his  lips  chiselled  as  if  of  marble  ;  then  to  rise, 
stand  against  a  pillar,  his  arms  folded,  looking  at  her  as  if 
she  was  a  stone,  with  no  word,  no  betrayal  of  feeling,  until 
she  said :  "  It  will  be  long,  very  long,  before  you  are  rich. 
Am  I  not  right,  Hugh  ?" — when  he  gasped,  "  Yes,"  from 
his  white  lips,  and  no  more. 

That  night  she  told  her  mother,  she  could  have  contended 
with  opposition,  grief,  or  anger;  but  such  silence,  such  stony 
apathy,  had  nearly  petrified  her.  Her  mother  was  sorry 
that  she  had  not  made  it  easier  for  Hugh.  The  discarded 
lover  was  soon  many  miles  from  Elinor  Castleman.  She 
wondered  for  long  years  where. 

•  The  miserable  had  fled  ;  and  the  next  night,  in  the  same 
place,  sat  a  calm,  confident,  happy  man,  ignorant  of  the 
sorrow  he  had  created. 

Mr.  Miller  had  now  more  than  two  of  the  beautiful  fingers 
in  his  clasp,  as  he  greeted  the  once  distant  girl,  when,  for 
the  first  time,  he  dared  to  take  in  at  a  glance,  the  circum 
ference,  length,  and  breadth  of  the  attractions  in  store  for 
him. 

The  lover  of  small  experience,  was  as  silent  with  rapture, 
as  agony  had  made  the  heart  that  beat  far  distant. 

Elinor  Castleman  was  not  one  that  charmed  her  lovers 
alone  by  actions,  or  words.  She  spoke  slowly,  and  with 
deliberate  languor  ;  was  seldom  vivacious,  though  like  moon 
light  upon  deep  waters,  the  sparkle  of  her  genius  was  seen, 
even  in  her  most  placid  moods.  But  in  anger,  she  was 
vehement,  and  passionately  earnest. 

When  she  aimed  to  attract,  she  seldom  failed  to  succeed  ; 
but  there  were  few  she  cared  to  interest.  Such  were  of 
marked  character.  She  had  appreciated  the  force  and 
strength  of  Hugh's,  the  only  one  who  could  ever  control  her. 
When  excited  with  feeling,  he  made  her  think  of  a  stormy 
sea,  and  of  its  blue  serenity  when  calm,  beneath  which  lay 

9* 


31  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

depth  and  gems  ;  while  the  dew  of  her  bright  intellect 
seemed  to  him  fresh  as  it  might-  have  lain  on  the  new-born 
roses  of  Eden. 

Still  Elinor  Castleman  had  kept  from  him  the  core  of  her 
heart ;  he  being  impressed  with  her  seeming  fervor,  believing 
her  attachment  fervent  as  his  own.  Had  he  numbered  ten 
more  years,  she  could  not  have  sent  him  from  her.  Hers 
was  a  character  requiring  the  sterner  influence  of  maturity 
to  govern  it.  The  virtues  of  an  angel,  seemed  not  sublime 
to  her  imagination,  could  he  not  command  "  silence  in 
heaven."  But  Mr.  Miller,  good  worthy  man,  was  as  insane 
with  the  idea  that  she  had  loved  him,  as  was  ever  an  asylum- 
lunatic  that  he  was  Khan  of  Tartary. 

It  was  true,  he  saw  she  was  not  like  his  Lucy,  who  was 
so  early  sainted  ;  but  he  was  younger  when  she  was  his 
bride.  He  could  not  expect,  he  thought,  the  same  demon 
stration  of  preference  in  the  magnificent  Elinor  ;  he  would 
as  soon  look  for  the  moon  in  her  silver  majesty  to  come 
down  and  greet  him,  as  that  she  should  give  him  all  her 
brightness,  as  Lucy  did,  in  a  single  glance. 

With  his  eyes  dazzled,  and  senses  charmed,  he  believed 
himself  a  supremely  happy  man.  His  first  wife  had  been  an 
invalid,  which  had  endeared  her  to  him  with  double 
power;  still  her  declining  health  imbued  his  life  with  sadness, 
from  the  time  he  took  her  to  his  home,  until  the  hour  she 
put  into  his  arms  her  child,  and  died. 

His  second  marriage,  for  he  wedded  Elinor,  was  a  bewil 
dering  change.  In  the  possession  of  youth,  health,  and 
beauty,  single-eyed,  he  scanned  the  heart  and  mind  of  his 
young  bride.  He  was  blind  to  the  influence  of  external 
circumstances — placing  wealth  in  her  control  —  creating 
smiles  and  approbation,  as  she,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
young  life,  felt  she  had  bought  the  right,  in  the  sacrifice  she 
made,  to  exercise  her  dominion.  He  did  not  realize  that 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  35 

ambition  ruled  her  heart ;  nor  know  how  much  she  had  craved 
the  power  to  be  independent  of  the  world's  favors. 

Mr.  Miller  had  not  been  a  resident  of  New  York,  but 
when  there,  took  lodgings  in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Castleman. 
His  life  had  been  chiefly  spent  in  a  manufacturing  district, 
until  after  the  accumulation  of  a  handsome  fortune, 
when  he  resorted,  during  the  summer  season,  to  a  place  he 
had  purchased  soon  after  his  first  marriage,  valued  from  the 
associations  of  that  period. 

It  was  an  old  fashioned  house,  situated  among  the  hills 
of  Berkshire — a  two  story  building,  with  a  high  flight  of 
granite  steps,  broad  flag-stones  leading  to  them,  from  the 
tall  gate  of  elaborate  joiner-work  at  the  entrance. 

Wings  extended  from  the  main  building,  now  half  hid 
by  sycamore  trees,  which  brushed  against  the  closed  win 
dows.  The  parlors,  each  side  of  the  long,  wide  hall,  were 
wainscoted  with  carved  cornices.  This  entrance  was  pa 
pered  with  gaudy  pictures,  representing  scenes  from  Tele- 
machus,  in  which  Calypso  flaunted  conspicuous.  The  figures, 
large  as  life,  with  the  verdure  of  the  tropic  isle,  daubed 
without  vista  or  perspective,  gave  a  social  genial  look  to  the 
broad  area,  sentinelled  by  a  brace  of  bull-dogs,  or  sphinxes, 
as  the  fancy  might  create  them,  carved  in  stone,  looking 
hideous,  scaring  small  children,  and  causing  juvenile 
researches  in  zoology. 

The  house  stood  far  back  from  the  road,  and  was  shaded 
by  the  branches  of  towering  elms,  two  of  which  having 
united  themselves,  seemingly  in  infancy,  were  now  twins  in 
stature,  their  trunks  interlaced  in  a  huge  braid  of  bark.  The 
low  windows  were  covered  by  Venetian  blinds,  casting  a 
shadow  over  furniture,  which  might  have  been  pronounced 
glaring,  by  the  fastidious — the  chairs  in  the  chief  drawing- 
room  being  of  green  painted  wood,  golden  pears  and  peaches 
ornamenting  their  backs  ;  those  in  the  other  apartments 


36  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

yellow,  with  red  cherries  emblazoned  thereon  ;  also,  hard 
bottomed  settees  of  the  same  colors  and  fraternity. 

Ingram  carpets  partly  covered  the  floors,  on  which  stood 
quadruple  legged  tables,  of  all  sizes,  and  awkward  patterns, 
some  covered  with  blue  woollen,  flowered  with  yellow. 
Baskets  of  fruit,,  with  green  owls  and  parrots  in  plaster, 
adorned  the  mantelpieces,  beneath  which  extended  the 
jambs  of  wide  fireplaces,  leased  to  andirons  long  wedded — 
they  encircled  by  high  railings  of  fender-work,  enclosing 
marble  hearthstones,  by  which  the  simple  Lucy  had  sat  the 
first  and  only  winter  of  her  married  life. 

The  bed-rooms,  over  which  jutted  gable  windows,  and  a 
well  battered  shingle  roof,  were  furnished  correspondingly — 
gay  flowered  chintz  and  quilt  patch-work  on  mountainous 
feather  beds  being  chiefly  observable.  Here  the  walls  were 
papered  with  pictures,  verdant  with  Alpine  scenery ;  the 
whole  prospect  awakening  impressions  of  a  hilly  country. 
Though  worn  and  faded,  still  the  tout  ensemble  was  pictur 
esque  and  gay. 

The  view  from  the  front  door,  seen  through  the  trees, 
comprehended  that  of  a  distant  lake,  environed  by  an 
amphitheatre  of  hills,  which  embraced  it  lovingly.  An 
apple  orchard  and  a  grove  of  evergreens  comprised  that  on 
the  east,  among  which  stood  maples  and  old  oaks.  Here  on 
the  low  ground,  extending  towards  the  meadows,  millions 
of  strawberry  vines  grew,  also  early  field  flowers.  But 
sweeter  than  all  other  scents  was  the  breath  of  the  spice- 
smelling  evergreens,  from  whose  coverts  came,  in  the  genial 
months,  bird-music — melody,  making  a  pleasant  tenor  to  the 
bass  of  the  waterfall,  near  by. 

It  was  enough  to  Mr.  Miller,  that  his  home  was  among 
his  native  hills,  within  sight  of  glorious  old  mountains, 
majestic  in  their  grandeur,  whether  hoary-headed,  with 
winter  snows — robed  in  the  first  flush  of  summer  greon,  or 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  37 

iu  their  autumn  dress,  bedecked  so  gaily,  tropic  birds  gold 
and  scarlet-winged,  might  seem  to  have  here  assembled, 
their  feathers  newly  dipped. 

It  was  enough  to  him,  that  in  his  youth,  and  the  meridian 
of  his  life,  he  had  trod  each  valley  and  hillock,  near  which 
the  old  house  stood,  though  his  boyhood  had  been  passed  in 
one  much  humbler — that  he  had  sat,  in  summer  time,  the 
last  ten  years  of  his  life,  in  the  open  door-way  of  the  gaudy 
papered  hall,  lookiug  forth  upon  fields  of  new-mown  hay, 
snuffing  its  clovery  smell,  where  the  locusts  chirped,  and  the 
long  grass  rustled  with  busy  insects,  keeping  music  with  the 
brighter  winged  gems  of  nature  that  beetled  the  sunny  air 
— that  here  he  had  loved  to  look  out  upon  the  clumps  of  trees 
making  arches  solemn  and  dark  as  the  cloistered  aisles  of 
dim  cathedrals,  holier  than  they — upon  bubbling  springs 
gushing  out  of  rocks,  watering  the  tufted  seats  that  nature 
had  made  about  the  grounds — and  more  dear  the  associa 
tion,  that  here,  on  the  door-steps  of  his  country  home,  he  had 
played  with  his  infant,  motherless  child,  watching  his  gambols 
— pitying  him  for  his  bereavement — mourning  for  his  own. 

Dove-cotes  he  had  placed  in  convenient  places,  loving  the 
beautiful  tilings  that  flew  in  and  out,  cherishing  them  like 
the  robins  who  sung  for  him,  as  robins  always  do,  sweet  and 
early. 

Raspberry  and  whortleberry  bushes  bordered  the  fields, 
where  the  country  children  were  free  to  pick  the  fruit 
garneting  and  jetting  the  hedges.  It  was  such  a  place  as 
the  genuine  rambler  loves,  and  all  about,  such  a  country  as 
the  Housatonic  claims. 

Mr.  Miller's  residence — for  it  had  no  name  poetical  or  des 
criptive — lay  in  the  outskirts  of  a  country  village,  frequented 
by  summer  wanderers. 

This  was  the,  only  inducement  for  the  young  bride  to 
gratify  her  husband's  wish,  to  seek  it,  soon  after  his 


88  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

marriage,  thinking  that  here  she  could  very  tolerably  pass 
the  season,  dull  in  town.  The  mountain  air  invigorated  her 
frame,  causing  Mr.  Miller  happiness,  as  he  thought  of  the 
home  which  he  fancied  would  so  much  delight  his  bride. 
But  sitting  astride  one  of  the  stone  dogs  at  the  entrance, 
was  an  object  upon  which  her  attention  fastened,  one  soon 
in  motion,  bounding  over  lawn  and  fence,  as  the  carriage 
approached,  not  stopping,  until  in  his  arms  the  father 
clasped  his  boy. 

"  Your  mother  1"  assisting  to  the  window  the  urchin  of 
ten  years. 

The  eager  child  felt  the  shrinking  betrayed  in  the  saluta 
tion  received,  and  sat  a  long  time  on  the  other  stone  dog, 
before  he  followed  into  the  house. 

With  indifference,  the  lady  ascended  the  steps,  but  started 
back  as  she  observed  the  interior  of  the  premises.  Com 
manding  herself,  she  silently  surveyed  within,  though  out 
wardly  complacent,  she  despised  her  bridal  home. 

Somewhat  embarrassed,  the  bridegroom  showed  his  wife 
over  the  mansion,  pausing  at  the  entrance,  where  the  boy 
kept  company  with  the  twin  beasts,  to  pat  him  on  his  head, 
then  with  her  went  off  on  to  the  ground  below. 

It  was  the  hour  of  sunset.  The  long  shadows  were  slant 
ing  over  field  and  meadow,  making  full  of  checkered  beauty 
the  golden  landscape.  Mr.  Miller  watched  the  earnest  gaze 
of  his  wife,  as  it  seemed  to  seek  something  not  yet  found. 
What  it  might  be,  he  did  not  ask.  He  believed  she  must 
enjoy  contentment  and  happiness  here. 

They  had  had  a  long  ramble,  bringing  a  bloom  to  the  fair 
young  cheek,  vigor  to  the  steps  of  the  loving  husband,  and 
to  both  an  appetite  for  the  comfortable  repast  awaiting 
them. 

After  tea,  Elinor  employed  herself  in  choosing  her  own 
room,  and  her  mother's,  to  which,  the  following  day,  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  C9 

effects  of  Mrs.  Castleman  were  removed,  including  a  cabinet 
of  "  antiques." 

Her  arrival  was  not  a  quiet  one,  owing  to  the  variety  she 
brought  with  her,  the  carrying  in  and  disposing  of  which, 
together  with  her  fluttering  anxiety  lest  breakage  should 
ensue,  creating  solicitude  and  confusion.  It  was  not  that 
trunks  of  all  sizes  and  shapes,  containing  the  pickings  of 
years  from  the  rubbish  of  her  rich  relatives,  lumbered  the 
wide  hall,  but  there  were  pyramids  of  boxes,  baskets,  and 
bundles  ushered  in,  besides  cages  in  which  were  aged  birds, 
and  unfledged  squabs,  roosting  and  nestling  in  feathers, 
seeds,  and  dirt — latticed  prisons,  incarcerating  tame  snakes, 
sickly  white  mice,  and  rabbits — their  pink  eyes  jaundiced  by 
confinement  ;  also,  a  squirrel,  who  from  the  fatigue  of  the 
journey  had  ceased  to  whirl,  and  now  reposed  under  his 
tail,  on  a  case  of  dead  beetles — the  inmates  having  lost  their 
pins,  and  tumbled  into  a  dust-heap. 

In  the  midst  worked  the  agitated  widow,  giving  orders 
regarding  the  disposition  of  her  valuables.  Arthur  had  a 
day  of  rare  enjoyment.  He  seemed  to  have  been  in  an 
Egyptian  museum,  for  though  he  had  not  seen  the  nails  of 
Pharaoh,  or  the  horned  oxen,  he  had,  nevertheless,  been 
awed  by  the  ashes  of  time. 

While  passing  through  the  homely  bed-room  to  her  own, 
carrying  in  one  hand  a  bottle  of  lizards,  she  employed  the 
other  pinching  significantly  the  arm  she  held,  her  foot  being 
not  less  busy  in  treading  on  the  toes  of  her  daughter. 

The  room,  now  fast  filling,  overlooked  an  apple  orchard, 
where  in  their  season,  the  trees  blossomed  plentifully,  pro 
ducing  within  view,  golden  pippins  and  seek-no-furthers. 
Laden  branches  peeped  into  the  low  windows,  beyond  which 
was  a  panorama  of  hills  and  mountains,  and  nearer  by 
grassy  slopes,  red  with  clover,  and  earlier  starred  with  dan 
delions.  Without  were  sweet  odors  and  sunny  influences. 


40  THE    TOKCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  view  within  was  soon  changed,  all  savoring  of  the 
widow  and  her  arrangements,  being  funereal  and  well  mnm- 
mied.  In  her  omninm  gatherum,  she  had  grasses  and  roses, 
but  they  were  pressed  and  dried  ;  bright-winged  insects — 
but  they  were  spitted  and  trussed  ;  fruits  and  flowers, 
waxed  and  wired  ;  shells  and  fossils,  imbedded  in  glue  ;  and 
a  perfumed  apartment ;  for  each  embalmed,  coffined,  and 
long-hoarded  treasure  was  odoriferous  of  its  occupant. 

Elinor  knew  the  evils  attendant  upon  her  mother's  arrival, 
but  pride  induced  her  to  give  her  a  home  rather  than  suffer 
the  humiliating  alternative  attendant  upon  her  roving,  beg 
ging  life. 

Accordingly  she  employed  the  servants  in  arranging  her 
repository,  which  was  done  amidst  the  shrieks  and  groans  of 
the  widow,  who  saw  nothing  in  prospect  but  demolition. 
Her  innumerable  gowns,  not  one  of  which  was  of  modern 
make,  or  suitable  to  her  age  or  form,  consisted  of  every 
fabric  and  hue  from  brocade  to  a  shilling  print,  the  colors 
varying  from  the  most  sombre  shade  to  sky-blue  and  rose 
color  befitting  the  maiden.  Some  were  made  for  fat 
figures,  and  some  for  the  fragile  ;  some  for  the  tall,  and 
some  for  short ;  and  all  collected  during  her  widowhood,  to 
be  colored  and  made  over. 

The  bestowal  of  the  above  required  no  ordinary  care  or 
management,  and  might  have  been  completed  harmoniously, 
but  in  the  removal  of  one  of  her  immense  trunks,  the  hasp 
broke,  and  out  upon  the  floor  came  its  riff-raff.  The  burst 
was  an  explosive  one,  the  ejection  violent.  A  wail  of  lam 
entation  succeeded  the  report,  and  with  depicted  woe  upon 
her  face,  Mrs.  Castleman  fell  on  her  knees,  to  grasp  the 
hoard,  and  save  it  from  theft. 

With  amazement  the  lookers-on  saw  a  haberdasher's  shop 
laid  open  before  them,  the  contents  of  which  would  have 
been  invaluable  to  the  vender  of  damaged  goods.  In  clia- 

. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  41 

otic  confusion,  upon  the  carpet  lay  old  ribbons,  tangled 
fringe  and  worsted,  half-made  lamp-mats,  and  stocking-tops, 
marabout  feathers,  and  salve,  old  letters,  and -curious  fish 
bones,  snarled  frizettes,  and  false  teeth,  old  shoes  of  all  pos 
sible  sizes,  stuffed  with  seeds  ;  pop-corn,  and  sugar-candy — 
the  dresses  and  finery  of  the  dead  and  living  for  past  gene 
rations  ;  and  over  all,  to  keep  out  moths  and  cockroaches, 
was  powdered  camphor,  pepper,  and  snuff.  That  a  drug 
shop  had  been  outpoured,  was  the  first  awful  conviction  upon 
the  bystanders,  which  impression  they  were  not  long  per 
mitted  to  suffer  or  enjoy,  her  assistants  being  suddenly 
ejected  from  the  apartment,  and  locked  out,  save  Arthur, 
who  was  permitted  to  remain  to  clean  a  snake  box,  a  duty 
he  performed  badly,  in  consequence  of  a  convulsive  sneez 
ing  fit.  Well  had  it  been  for  her  son-in-law,  had  she 
been  there  entombed  with  her  relics  ;  but  there  were  times 
when  she  stalked  abroad,  making  new  arrangements,  or 
rather,  stirring  them  up  in  the  old  homestead,  which  Mr. 
Miller  had  thought  so  comfortable.  He  seemed  to  have 
been  badly  brought  up  in  matters  of  taste  ;  and  so  he  began 
to  think,  when  a  month  after  his  marriage,  masons,  carpen 
ters,  and  upholsterers,  filled  his  house,  and  to  subsequently 
send  him  in  their  bills.  He  had  never  thought  of  skylights 
in  doors,  of  conservatories,  libraries  opening  on  to  "  English 
lawns,"  laundries,  bathing,  and  billiard  rooms,  and  of  furni 
ture  corresponding  ;  but,  simple  man,  was  contented  to  sit, 
where  his  Lucy  had  done,  by  the  sash-blinded  windows, 
where  the  lilac  bushes,  and  the  cinnamon  roses  shook  in 
their  leaves  and  violet  clusters — liking  no  place  better  than 
the  little  "  sitting-room,"  now  made  into  a  "  boudoir,"  where 
his  Elinor  lounged  mornings  with  her  French  plays,  and  met 
"  especial  friends  "  from  the  city.  This  was  the  only  spot 
he  seriously  hated  to  relinquish — to  see  unchanged  ;  but 
how  could  Elinor  know  how  dear  it  was  ?  She  must  have  a 


42  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  secluded  spot,"  and  he  would  not  tell  her  that  here  his 
child  was  born,  and  here  his  Lucy  died. 

And  so  he  remained  silent ;  acquiescent  to  the  tearing 
down  and  building  up,  beginning  to  think  he  was  having  a 
Solomon's  temple  of  the  new  "  Castlemont,"  for  such  was  it 
ultimately  called  :  only  there  was  no  "Ark  under  the  wings 
of  the  cherubim."  But  there  was  one  who  enjoyed  the 
improvements  daily  progressing ;  the  boy,  Arthur,  who 
looked  upon  the  new  comer  as  at  a  beautiful  picture  or 
statue  behind  a  railing.  Mrs.  Castleman  he  viewed  with 
wonder — a  feeling  akin  to  that  which  awed  him  when  he 
went  into  her  cabinet  of  tune-honored  things. 

Elinor's  dread  of  the  boy  was  calmed  when  she  saw  how 
distantly  he  greeted  her,  and  readily  fell  into  her  views  of 
calling  her  "  Mrs.  Miller."  She  at  first  liked  the  way, 
though  awkward,  with  which  he  took  off  his  cap,  passing 
her,  bowing  with  gravity — dignity  which  increased,  until  she 
became  piqued  with  his  independence.  That  he  admired 
her  was  evident,  which  was  some  alleviation  of  her  chagrin  ; 
and  that  he  was  "homely  and  gawky,"  elicited  neither 
surprise  or  displeasure,  his  most  impertinent  reply  being, 
that  she  was  handsome  enough.  This  salvo  caused  him  the 
indulgence  he  craved,  a  room  in  the  attic  unmolested  by 
carpenters. 

Blinded  by  the  persuasive  smiles  of  his  youthful  wife,  Mr. 
Miller  granted  her  every  indulgence;  while  she,  having  been 
limited  to  the  scantiest  resources,  saw  no  bottom  to  the 
stream  of  his  wealth.  His  house  must  be  made  into  a 
temple  of  luxury,  and  her  person  adorned  as  its  goddess. 
So  quietly  had  she  effected  the  changes  made  in  his  old 
home,  that  Mr.  Miller  had  not  been  aware  of  her  secret 
disgust  at  its  former  appearance  ;  and  looked  upon  what  it 
was,  as  among  the  things  that  had  passed  away,  cheerfully, 
yet  with  regret.  He  enjoyed  Elinor's  rural  fetes,  but  craved 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  43 

rest.  He  was  willing  to  follow  his  charmer  into  as  many 
scenes  of  gaiety  as  would  vary  the  monotony  of  her  too 
quiet  country  life  ;  but  he  had  acquired  an  uncontrollable 
habit,  contracted  ML  long  years,  of  sleeping  at  night  ;  he 
could  not  therefore,  like  his  young  wife,  turn  light  into 
darkness,  and  out  of  darkness  make  light.  He  had,  too, 
the  vulgar  habit  of  rising  early  ;  he  liked  to  be  abroad  with 
his  eyes  to  the  east,  when  the  god  of  day  burst  its  dam  of 
emerald  hills,  spreading  a  sea  of  golden  water  all  over  a> 
world,  dark  and  cold  as  lead,  till  wet  and  sparkling  it 
gleamed  in  the  gushing  flood.  But  for  the  -sun-worshipper, 
there  was  other  radiance  now.  For  this  he  would  try  to 
reverse  the  order  of  nature  ;  but  it  must  be  for  a  price  the 
gay  one  could  not  yield  ;  and  the  tune  came  when  the  fond 
husband  yearned  for  more  day  gleams  and  less  of  the 
artificial  glare  which  dazzled,  without  affording  one  cheerful 
picture  of  domestic  happiness.  Body  and  soul-wearied,  he  - 
finally  plead  for  a  change. 

An  absurd  idea  this  was  to  Mrs.  Miller,  which  she  evinced 
by  characteristic  contempt.  But  the  maddest  folly  of  which 
the  credulous  husband  was  guilty,  was  the  inference  he 
conveyed,  that  by  it  his  own  happiness  would  be  increased. 

Any  one  who  had  known  Mrs.  Archibald  Miller,  and 
ever  seen  her  large,  languid  eyes  open  full  uiam  one 
she  derided,  can  imagine  how,  and  in  what  manacr,  she 
received  the  proposition.  Mr.  Miller  least  understood 
her — mistaking  the  look  for  one  of  disappointment.  Her 
eyes,  we  have  said,  were  opened,  but  his  were  still  shut. 
He  was  sorry  to  oppose  his  young  wife  ;  and  what  was 
more  remarkable,  he  ventured  to  express  his  absurd 
opinions  ;  Mrs.  Miller  meantime  wondering  if  the  man 
whose  name  she  had  taken,  for  value  received,  had  any 
private  notions,  opposing  hers,  expecting  her  to  conform  to 
them.  She  had  asked  his  acquiescence  as  a  matter  of 


44  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

civility,  nothing  more.  Good  breeding  did  not  require  that 
she  should  repeat  the  question.  Indeed,  was  it  a  ques 
tion  ? 

Mrs.  Miller  had  a  way  of  perfecting  her  aims  quietly. 
But  there  was  one  thing  she  might  have  overlooked  in  her 
shrewdness — that  Mr.  Archibald  Miller  cajoled,  might  be  a 
different  man  from  Mr.  Miller  no  longer  duped. 

It  hardly  seemed  to  her  an  argument — the  talk  about  the 
dancing-parties — in  other  words,  the  night  revelling,  mas 
querading,  and  rioting,  that  went  on  in  the  once  old-fashioned 
mansion  ;  for  it  was  all  on  one  side,  from  a  voice  and  eyes, 
yet  speaking  admiration  for  the-  beautiful  creature,  who 
slowly  walked  at  even  paces  past  him,  awaiting  the  ending 
of  remarks,  thought  by  her  both  long  and  stupid. 

"You  do  not  know,  Elinor,  how  wholly,  through  the 
season,  I  have  sacrificed  my  tastes  to  please  you  ?" 

"  And  that  you  will  still  ?"  Mrs.  Miller  questioned,  sotto 
voce,  still  walking. 

"  You  know,  my  love,  my  dancing  days  are  over — " 

"  And  that  mine  have  just  begun." 

"  I  do  not  forget  this;  let  me  see  how  you  look  about  the 
matter  ?"  Elinor  did  not  refuse,  but  at  the  next  turn,  came 
nearer  her  husband. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  oppose,  or  to  thwart  you,  but  I  wish  to 
invite  the  old  people,  Arthur's  grandparents,  and  his  Aunt 
Jane,  to  spend  some  weeks  with  us  ;  and  although  somewhat 
contrary  to  my  principles,  I  have  permitted  dancing  and 
card  playing,  yet  I  would  like  such  amusements  to  cease 
during  their  stay." 

"  Your  sister  Jane  does  not  dance  the  polka  ?"  queried 
Elinor,  looking  past  her  husband  out  the  doorway. 

"  Jane  !     Elinor,  you  are  are  wild  !" 

"  Perhaps  she  and  the  old  people  like  eucher  ?" 

"  You  are  certainly  jesting.     They  don't  know  a  dancing 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  45 

step  or  a  card,  and  would  be  shocked  to  see  them  in  the 
house." 

"Is  it  not  then  better  they  remain  where  they  are  ?  My 
guests  might  be  shocked  at  -their  habits  and  peculiarities." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear,  you  are  speaking  of  the  parents 
and  sister  of  one  whose  place  you  fill  ;  and  that  they  will 
look  for  a  child  and  sister  in  you." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Miller."  Elinor  spoke  civilly.  "  Unfortun 
ately  my  arrangments  are  made  for  the  summer." 

"  And  are  you  not  wearied  ?" 

"  Next  week  guests  will  arrive  from  the  city  ;  dresses 
and  scenery  are  already  prepared  for  tableaux,  and  a 
fancy  dress  pic-nic  by  the  water.  Unless  these  friends  of 
yours  can  participate  in  my  amusements,  they  would  be 
happier  at  home.  Mamma  is  arranging  some  apparel  for  a 
part,  but  I  have  advised  her  to  act  that  of  a  statue 
representing  Truth."  Elinor  slightly  sneered* 

"  You  could  personify  that  better,"  said  MJ-.  Miller, 
smiling.  "It  is  a  pleasant  thought  to  me,  Elinor,  that  if 
you  play  many  parts  for  others,  to  me  you  enact  but  one  : 
if  you  overrule  my  judgment,  you  do  not  do  it  by  deception. 
I  know  you  will  answer  me  truly.  Will  it  not  afford  you 
happiness  to  be  kind  to  my  friends  ?" 

"  You  are  right.  I  will  not  deceive  you.  I  cannot 
resign  my  enjoyments  ;  neither  do  I  wish  for  the  acquaint 
ance  of  any  obscure,  hum-drum  people.  You  may  as  well 
know,  Mr.  Miller,  it  is  my  intention  to  lead  a  gay  life." 

"  I  have  not  been  accustomed  to  so  much  dissipation  and 
such  late  hours."  Mr.  Miller  withdrew  his  arm. 

"  You  have  unfortunately  married  a  young  wife." 

"  Youth  is  generally  pliable." 

"  Consequently  can  manufacture  materials  for  happiness 
out  of  dull  resources.  To-morrow  evening  we  shall  have  a 
ball  and  a  supper.  I  am  sorry  you  are  indisposed  for  it  ; 


4G  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

but  you  can  hardly  expect  me  to  retire  from  the  world  at 
my  age,  if  I  have  married  a  man  older  than  myself."  Elinor 
stopped  to  arrange  a  falling  braid.  She  was  scrupulously 
nice  with  her  hair. 

Mr.  Miller  was  hurt  by  the  foregoing  conversation.  He 
had  not  gained  a  hair's  breadth  by  it,  which  he  thought  of, 
while  his  wife  arranged  hers  composedly.  She  passed  him 
as  she  left  the  mirror.  He  stopped  her.  Elinor  was  passive 
and  patient. 

"  Did  I  not  think  that  you  really  loved  me  ;  that  for  this 
sole  motive  you  gave  me  this  hand  (it was  lost  in  his  palm), 
at  this  moment  I  should  believe  you  were  careless  of  my 
happiness." 

"  Pray,  don't  be  sentimental  ;  it  is  weak  enough  in  a 
woman,  but  in .  a  man  unbearable."  Elinor  turned  away 

"  Am  I  criminally  so,  when  I  wish  some  assurance  of  your 
wish  to  please  me  ?" 

"  Mr.  Miller,  it  might  be  well  to  remember  the  difference 
in  our  ages." 

"  I  am  often  reminded  of  the  disparity  ;  still  I  had  hoped 
that  it  did  not  debar  sympathy  between  us." 

"  I  proposed  to-day  to  read  you  a  play  of  Racine's  ;  but 
believe  you  are  not  a  French  scholar." 

"  Nor  an  English  one  ;  but  trust  even  my  imperfect 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  may  enable  me  to  comprehend 
some  day,  my  clever  wife.  I  think  you  would  not  intend  to 
deride  me,  Elinor  ?" 

"  You  have  irritated  me,  and  I  may  have  been  uncivil — 
if  so,  I  apologize." 

"  Is  so  much  ceremony  necessary  between  us  ?"  Mr. 
"Miller  put  his  hand  upon  his  wife's  shoulder.  "  Let  us 
reconcile  this  disturbance.  Will  you  not  consent  to  some 
cessation  of  visiting  ? — less  company  at  home  ?" 


THROUGH    TH-E   WOOD.  47 

"  If  you  insist,  I  will  devote  to-morrow  to  you,  and 
postpone  the  party  until  the  next  day.  What  do  you 
require  of  me  ?" 

"Go — go,  Elinor — nothing — I  require  nothing  of  you." 
Mr.  Miller  left  the  room,  passing  to  the  hall,  to  his  old  seat 
by  the  doorway,  not  as  it  was  of  yore  ;  but  arched  and 
frescoed  ;  while  around  him  stood  sculptured  divinities,  and 
near  by,  hung  grand  old  paintings.  Calypso  had  vanished^ 
and  Mentor  had  departed  ;  but  Venus  and  Apollo  had 
taken  their  places. 

He  seemed  to  have  been  blinded,  and  was  recovering. 
What  a  film  had  covered  his  eyes  1  How  slow  in  coming 
off  1  Dream-land  was  back  of  it,  full  of  golden  hopes,  long 
treasured,  where  an  angel  stood,  the  consoler  of  his  earthly 
pilgrimage.  He  could  not,  he  would  not  rend  it.  He  would 
dream  on,  dream  till  death — if  blind,  remain  so. 

The  blind  dreamer  went  to  sleep,  in  the  hot  summer  noon. 
His  slumber  was  restless — disturbed.  He  seemed  to  be  look 
ing  for  Elinor,  while  she  wandered  farther  from  him.  He 
was  groping  in  darkness,  and  finally  seized  her ;  she, 
despoiled  of  her  beauty,  crushed,  forsaken. 

He  awoke,  and  thanked  God  it  was  but  a  dream  ;  he  had 
awakened  by  the  gentle  tap  of  Mrs.  Castleman's  finger, 
while  her  soft  voice  melted  on  his  ear — in  tones  not  golden, 
yet  ringing  of  the  metal. 

"  It  is  an  affliction  to  you,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  aware,"  said 
she,  "that  our  sweet  Elinor  is  so  gay.  (She  had  been 
listening.)  I  wish  she  more  entirely  assimilate'd  with  her 
excellent  husband.  But  then  she  makes  our  home  such  a 
little  Paradise — so  lively  at  all  hours.  I  never  see  poor 
Brother  Tom  here,  but  we  who  are  of  earth,  earthy,  require 
some  repose  of  the  body  as  well  as  the  soul.  Would  you  be 
offended,"  she  continued,  "if  I  were  to  offer  to  pledge  you 
this  esteemed  relic  for  the  loan  of  a  hundred  ?" 


48  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Mrs.  Castleman  had  so  long  lamented  her  poverty,  that  in 
her  conversation  she  sometimes  failed  to  remember  that  Mr. 
Miller  had  settled  upon  her  at  the  time  of  his  marriage,  a 
handsome  annuity. 

"  Elinor  deems  it  proper  that  I  should  appear  at  her 
fancy  ball,  in  character."  The  widow  drew  off  her  family 
ring. 

"  Mrs.  Castleman,"  said  'Mr.  Miller,  annoyed,  "  you  will 
oblige  me  by  never  again  offering  me  security  for  your  own 
property.  If  your  income  is  too  small  for  your  necessities,  it 
shall  be  enlarged.  I  do  not  wish  to  see  my  wife's  mother 
acting  the  part  of  a  beggar." 

"  I  do  not  intend,"  said  Mrs.  Castleman,  humbly,  "  to  act 
that  part,  but  should  prefer  any  character  not  ostentatious. 
My  reduced  circumstances  forbid  much  display  ;  and  having 
been  so  long  a  deceased  relict,  propriety  compels  me  to  wear 
the  weeds  of  humble  poverty.  I  prefer  to  represent '  Virtue 
unadorned.' " 

"  Here  is  all  I  have  about  me,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  disgusted. 
"  Consider  it  your  own — you  owe  me  no  thanks." 

"  This  will  furnish  me  drapery.  Elinor  thinks  I  would  look 
less  ostentatious  among  the  shrubbery.  She  is  so  candid  aiid 
truthful,  you  know.  I  shall  retire  from  the  marble  early,  to 
my  own  room,  which  will  comport  more  with  the  afflicted 
state  of  my  mind,  since  £he  demise  of  poor  Tom.  If,  Mr. 
Miller,  we  could  be  allowed  the  privileges  of  a  Christian 
family  !" 

Arthur  now  approached  his  father,  with  a  request.  He 
walked  forth  with  his  son. 

Mrs.  Castleman  went  to  the  boudoir  of  her  daughter. 
She  found  her  perusing  a  note,  her  face  pale,  and  her  eyes 
tearful.  The  proud  woman  was  now  absent,  and  the  girlish 
Elinor  wept  over  an  old  billet  doux. 

The  coining  of  her  mother  recalled  her  to  her  position,  for 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  49 

she  saw  that  she  bore  in  her  hand  a  crumpled  note,  and 
believed  that  she  had  just  begged  it  of  him  she  had  offended. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  alone,  my  child,  and  to  learn,  acci 
dentally,  you  have  assumed  the  privileges  of  your  sex  and 
birth,  with  your  low-born  husband.  A  mother's  advice  may 
be  salutary.  Never  yield.  Be  civil  and  politic  ;  gratify  his 
little  whims  ;  let  him  smoke,  chew  and  spit,  if  he  likes,  keep 
dogs,  or  young  bears,  but  in  all  things  of  importance,  have 
your  own  way.  Put  your  foot  down  lightly,  but  put  it 
down.  I  have  discovered  your  excellent  husband's  eccen 
tricities,  and  that  meanness  and  vulgarity  are  inbred  with 
his  low  blood.  Another  of  his  vices  is  jealousy.  He 
watches  you  h"ke  a  cat,  and  if  you  don't  cure  him,  he  will  be 
a  tyrant.  He  reads  your  letters  when  you  are  out,  and 
sneaks  in  the  bushes,  and  in  the  halls,  to  get  a  sight  of  you 
when  you  think  he  is  a-bed." 

Elinor's  face  crimsoned  with  indignation. 

"  Will  you  excuse  me,  madam,  if  I  decline  any  of  your 
advice."  She  took  up  a  book. 

"Certainly,  my  love,  and  I  will  instead,  seek  yours.  I 
wish  to  give  my  countenance,  if  quite  in  the  shade,  in  some 
humble  way  to  your  artistic  performance,  and  have  decided 
upon  Virtue,  which  will  be  less  expensive  than  a  more  active 
part.  Statuary  requires  little  in  the  way  of  dress,  though 
in  this  instance  I  would  consider  it  proper,  even  if  scant." 

"  You  are  certainly  not  expecting  to  enact  any  part  in 
this  scene  1"  said  Elinor,  with  disgust  and  astonishment. 
"  You  will  oblige  me  by  keeping  your  own  room  through  the 
evening,  instead  of  making  yourself  ridiculous.  It  is 
enough  that  you  have  exposed  your  weakness  to  Mr.  Miller." 

"  Certainly,  my  love,  I  will  not  forget  that  I  am  in  your 
house,  under  obligations  such  as  I  can  never  repay  ;  and 
that  I  am  still  poor  and  despised.  Perhaps  I  had  better. 

return  to  keeping  boarders.    Your  Uncle  Tom's  widow  " 

3 


50  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Do  you  say  this  to  insult  me,  madam  ?  or  do  you  wish 
to  show  your  ingratitude  for  the  liberality  of  my  husband  ?" 
questioned  Elinor. 

"  Excuse  me — I  forget  you  and  your  excellent  partner  are 
one.  I  am  aware  that  dependents  should  keep  their  proper 
places,  and  maintain  silence.  Mr.  Miller  is  not  a  vindictive, 
if  an  artful  man  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt,  with  a  few  of  your 
affectionate  caresses,  that  he  will  think  his  darling  an  angel. 
But  don't  overdo  it,  Elinor." 

Mrs.  Castleman  went  out  with  a  smirk,  and  a  light,  float 
ing  step,  to  her  own  chamber. 

Before  she  reached  her  museum,  she  met  Mr.  Miller,  and 
Arthur  returning  from  their  walk.  With  a  show  of  her 
gums,  she  bowed,  patting  the  cheek  of  Arthur.  The  two 
had  had  a  long  ramble. 

In  the  excitement  of  his  recent  married  life,  Mr.  Miller 
had  felt  the  want  of  tranquillity.  He  had  rushed  onward 
with  Elinor's  throng — struggling,  not  enjoying.  In  his  leafy 
bower  he  had  seen  the  waters  leap  and  gurgle,  yet  flow  at 
last  serene  ;  he  had  heard  the  birds  sing,  but  in  the  noon 
day  nestle  silently  in  their  coverts  ;  even  the  rushing  winds 
became  noiseless  as  night  whisperings — why  then  should  his 
perturbed  spirit  never  be  still  ?  The  boughs  shook  over 
him  their  frail  white  blossoms,  but  they  came  down  like 
snow-flakes  ;  the  buds  swelled  and  grew  scarlet — but  with 
out  show  or  merriment.  There  was  scarce  a  breath,  or 
sound  of  wind  on  the  air.  He  felt  the  luxury  of  nature's 
silence — her  holy,  tranquilizing  influence.  Like  medicine,  it 
soothed  his  spirit — he  forgave  his  wife  her  cold,  harsh 
words. 

The  scene  changed  in  the  house  that  night.  No  city 
assembly  was  gayer  or  more  brilliant,  for  well  its  hostess 
knew  how  to  complete  her  triumphs.  The  grounds  were  full 
of  visitors  ;  charades  had  been  played,  and  the  wildest  mis- 


THROUGH    THJS  WOOD.  51 


chief  conjured,  until  the  evening  far., advanced,  when,  under 
the  canopy  of  stars  the  merriment  still  went  on.  Within 
were  card-rooms,  and  those  of  more  private  gaiety.  Mr. 
Miller  roved  in  the  crowd  until  the  hour  of  two,  looking  as 
upon  a  panorama,  feeling  a  desire  to  see  the  shifting  scenes 
go  by,  that  he  might  catch  a  brighter  one  to  come,  and 
learn  its  satisfying  enjoyment. 

Seeing  him  wearied,  his  eye  was  directed  by  a  looker-on 
to  the  belle  of  the  fete.  He  heard  the  murmurs  of  the 
crowd,  and  knew  they  talked  of  his  wife.  She  passed  him 
in  the  dance.  Her  eyes  flashed  like  stars  in  their  own  blue 
ether,  treading  lightly,  yet  with  majestic  step,  as  if  the 
weight  she  carried  was  her  own.  Applause  followed  her. 
Admirers  of  her  sex  sought  to  see  the  grace  they  could  not 
imitate,  while  she  gaily  floated,  a  girlish  matron,  careless  of 
aught  but  conquest.  She  dropped  her  bouquet.  Her  hus 
band  handed  it  to  her.  With  a  smile  she  turned  towards 
the  supposed  gallant,  who  brushed  her  shoulder  with  the 
blossoms. 

The  low  "thank  you"  was  arch  and  fascinating.  It  was 
only  Mr.  Miller  ! 

"  Elinor,  you  will  be  ill  !" 

As  well  might  he  catch  a  revolving  orb  of  fire,  or  hold 
communion  with  a  meteor's  flash.  Her  partner  awaited  her 
attention.  The  waltz  began. 

With  a  chill  the  husband  looked  upon  the  young  face  that 
no  longer  wore  a  smile  for  him.  He  left  the  rooms  and 
went  to  a  remote  wing  of  the  establishment.  He  believed 
himself  alone  in  this  part  of  the  house,  but  while  going 
through  a  long,  dark  hall,  he  saw  in  the  moonlight,  standing 
by  the  window,  looking  down  upon  the  garden  scene,  a  being 
robed  in  white,  her  grey  locks  erect,  her  form  silent  and 
motionless.  Unwigged,  unsilked,  unstuffed,  and  untoothed, 
Mrs.  Castleman  had  also  wandered  for  the  same  purpose. 


52  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Hearing  a  step,  she  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  Could 
she  ever — the  husband  asked  himself — have  been  beautiful 
as  Elinor  ? — and  his  wife  ever  become  false  in  principle  as 
the  miserable  woman  whose  shadow  darkened  his  household  ? 
Shuddering,  he  closed  his  door,  praying  that  he  might  not 
live  to  see  the  wreck. 


THROUGH     THE     WOOD.  53 


CHAPTER    III. 

IT  was  a  pleasant  sight  to  Mr.  Miller  to  see  Jane  Selden, 
Lucy's  sister,  go  about  his  house  making  it  so  comfort 
able,  orderly,  and  cheerful — though  the  sunlight  she  brought 
was  of  the  soft,  misty  kind,  that  never  dazzled,  but  always 
comforted. 

Mr.  Miller  liked  to  have  her  by  his  hearthstone — would 
have  liked  her  always  there  ;  and  so  would  Arthur,  who 
looked  up  to  her  as  to  an  elder  sister,  or  a  young  mother. 

But  Elinor  avowed  she  preferred  a  tabby  cat  for  com 
pany.  But  there  had  been  a  birth  in  the  family,  and  the 
services  of  the  maiden-aunt  were  not  unappreciated. 

Arthur  Miller  had  a  little  sister  !  a  very  common  bestow 
al,  as  the  reader  may  estimate  the  gift,  but  to  the  little  attic 
student  it  was  as  if  heaven  had  opened,  and  dropped  in  his 
arms  a  cherub — something  that  he  might  love  as  he  could  a 
thing  so  little  and  gentle,  and  he,  so  homely  and  gawky, 
perhaps  be  loved  in  return  1  Brave,  affectionate  boy  !  How 
nobly  he  had  borne  neglect !  How  secret,  yet  how  true  had 
been  his  sympathy  for  his  lonely  father,  and  how  significant 
his  boyish  demeanor,  which  seemed  to  say,  though  silently, 
"  There  is  one  heart  left  for  you." 

Scrupulously  respectful  to  Mrs.  Miller,  treating  her  coolly 
as  she  treated  him,  he  was  still  ready  to  deprive  himself  of 
rest,  or  to  incur  fatigue  in  her  service.  Yet,  motherless  boy, 
how  he  sighed  for  one  loving  look,  one  fond  caress  from  the 
soft  white  hand  I  He  marvelled  not  that  his  father  had 


54  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

married  her,  for  that  she  could  love,  he  believed,  by  the  way 
she  talked  to  her  bird. 

He  often  looked  at  himself  in  the  little  oblong  glass  that 
had  reflected  his  young  mother's  face;  and  wished  he  was 
handsomer,  since  she,  the  beautiful,  had  thought  him  ugly. 

But  there  was  one  place  where  every  limb  in  his  body 
grew  graceful ;  where  with  the  boy-spring  of  health  and 
happiness,  he  could  leap  fences,  pitch  hay,  and  come  in 
doors,  or  go  out,  "  the  handsomest  boy  in  the  country  ;" 
and  that  was  at  Grandpa'  Selden's.  There  was  one,  too, 
there,  who  gave  him  all  the  love  he  asked — dear  Aunt  Jane 
— and  one  more  awkward,  Mr.  Zebedee  Flint. 

But  now  that  the  new  baby  had  come,  all  else  was 
forgotten  by  Arthur.  A  strange  idea  took  possession  of 
him.  He  wished  to  name  the  child.  He  had  never  made  a 
request  of  his  step-mother,  but  so  strong  was  his  desire,  he 
ventured  to  designate  his  choice. 

Surprised,  yet  pleased,  Elinor  smiled  upon  him — he,  the 
unloved,  awkward  boy — and  repeated  "  Jeanie — 
Jeanie  1" — So  it  shall  be — "  Jeanie  Miller." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  55 


CHAPTEE   IV. 

FOUR  years  had  passed.  The  Millers  still  resort  to 
Castlemont.  During  this  period,  the  wife  had  been 
famous  at  home  and  abroad.  She  has  learned  to  be  proud 
of  her  husband's  reputation  and  position  ;  secretly  discerning 
that  from  its  influence  she  has  derived  advantages,  aside 
from  his  wealth — a  conviction  not  openly  revealed. 

Believing  him  vulgar  and  inferior  to  her  when  she  married 
him,  the  prejudice  remained  unrooted,  until  the  unwelcome 
sentiment  had  been  betrayed  privately  and  publicly. 

But  when  she  saw  her  error — when  too  late  she  found  she 
had  alienated  him  from  her — that  she  was  no  longer  an 
object  of  his  worship,  a  heavy  blow  was  levelled  at  her 
pride,  and  weightier  it  fell,  as  year  after  year  his  influence 
and  importance  increased.  She  would  have  now  recalled 
him,  but  though  she  knew  it  not,  he  was  not  recallable. 
The  cataract  had  fallen,  and  contempt  had  deadened  his 
love.  It  was  a  sentiment  not  easily  changed  in  a  mind  once 
so  childlike;  now  cruelly  taught  to  distrust.  Yet  they  were 
a  civil  couple.  As  the  shadow  of  affection  disappeared  in 
their  intercourse,  ceremony  was  more  strictly  observed. 
Mechanically  he  seemed  to  wait  upon  and  protect  her  ; 
faithfully  guarding  her,  jealous  of  her  reputation,  for  her 
sake  and  his  own. 

To  him  she  was  scrupulously  respectful,  secretly  yearning 
for  the  place  which  she  had  lost.  He  no  longer  contended 
with  her  tastes,  but  allowed  her  to  enjoy  them,  while  he 


56  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

sought  resources  independent  of  her.  Still  pity  mingled 
with  his  stern  indifference,  pity  arising  from  the  corrupt 
influence  of  a  parent,  whom  he  had  learned  to  wholly 
despise.  If  he  ever  now  looked  upon  Elinor  with  softened 
emotions,  it  was  when  the  former  came  in  his  way,  sleek, 
fawning,  cringing,  for  his  favor,  with  crocodile  tears,  lament 
ing  the  coldness,  brought  to  its  zero  frigidity,  by  the  action 
of  her  own  benumbing  influence,  upon  two  beings  whom  she 
had  brought  together,  poisoning  their  confidence,  fevering 
the  pulse  of  the  one,  by  her  tales  of  "jealous  doubts,"  and 
with  her  secret  devices,  palsying  the  stronger,  the  loving 
heart  :  thus,  while  agitating  the  black  waters  rolling 
between  them,  she  made  impassable  the  gulf.  Growing 
sour  and  salty,  neglected  by  the  relatives  at  whose  feet  she 
had  cringed  a  parasite,  she  would  make  others  miserable  as 
herself.  With  the  total  extinction  of  every  generous  attri 
bute,  her  soul  seemed  kept  alive  in  its  socket  by  the  hope 
of  possible  legacies  from  the  Castleman  family.  That  she 
and  her  child  might  be  free,  she  had  bartered  her  ;  and  yet, 
what  was  she  still  ?  , "  Can  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin, 
or  the  leopard  his  spots  ?" 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  51 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.  MILLER  breakfasted  alone — lie  had  long  done  so, 
and  sat  in  his  library  by  a  cheerful  blaze.  Jeanie 
played  on  the  carpet  near  him.  His  attention  was  suddenly 
attracted  to  the  child,  whose  glossy  head  came  up  to  the 
height  of  the  table,  she  having  commenced  dashing  from  it 
letters  and  bank-notes,  aiming  at  their  destruction  in  the 
fire. 

"Jeanie,  my  little  daughter,  don't  touch  papa's  pa 
pers." 

"  I  make  'em  fy  up  chimney  !"  The  little  girl  persisted 
in  her  determination,  several  of  which  she  had  thrown  on 
the  coals.  Mr.  Miller  rescued  those  most  valuable,  and 
imperatively  forbade  her  from  touching  more  ;  but  with  her 
accustomed  wilfulness  she  screamed,  stamping  her  little  feet 
and  snatching,  with  the  alertness  of  a  sprite,  a  package  of 
the  money  ;  and  before  her  father  could  save  it,  the  notes 
were  in  a  blaze,  while  she  continued  her  cry  :  "I  will  1  I 
will  !  I  make  'em  fy." 

Between  alarm  and  vexation,  Mr.  Miller  gave  the  child  a 
shake,  drawing  her  hastily  from  the  table,  to  which  she  had 
ran  for  more  booty.  Finding  herself  thwarted,  she  threw 
herself  upon  the  floor,  where  she  continued  to  scream,  kick, 
and  beat  her  head. 

Not  only  his  loss,  but  the  ungoverned  temper  of  the  child, 
distressed  him.  He  attempted  to  subdue  her,  and  to  make 
her  submit  to  his  requirements  :  to  rise  from  the  floor  and 

3* 


58  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

pick  up  his  letters — which  she  suddenly  did,  but  to  dash 
them  all  on  the  coals. 

Her  apron  caught  in  the  flames.  Though  the  loss  was 
doubled,  alarm  was  only  felt  for  the  child.  The  blaze  was 
stifled,  and  the  little  girl  left  uninjured,  her  face  and  arms 
having  been  saved  by  the  exposure  of  his.  ^ 

Attracted  by  the  noise,  Mrs.  Castleman  opened  the  door 
of  the  library  ;  and  seeing  Jeanie  struggling  and  crying 
with  terror  and  passion,  she  awaited  no  intelligence,  but 
hastened  to  the  apartments  of  her  daughter,  and,  with  her 
hands  lifted,  exclaimed  : — 

"  Mr.  Miller  has  nearly  killed  little  Jeanie — he  has  beat 
her  till  she  can't  speak  1" 

Elinor  had  been  for  some  tune  aware  of  her  husband's 
fears  respecting  the  ungovernable  will  of  the  child,  and  too 
readily  believed  she  had  received  severe  punishment. 

Pale  with  indignation,  she  drew  about  her  the  folds  of 
her  wrapper,  and  hastened  across  the  parlors  to  the  opposite 
wing,  her  husband's  library.  She  found  the  latter  attempt 
ing  to  hush  the  cries  of  the  child,  while  he  held  her  on  his 
knee,  she  insisting  that  she  was  cruelly  hurt. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Miller  entered,  when  she  sought  to 
snatch  the  weeping  little  Jeanie  fronj-^im. 

"  If  you  wish  for  an  example  on  whom  to  practise  your 
theory  of  discipline,  sir,  I  trust  for  the  future  you  will  seek 
one  in  some  other  child.  Will  you  give  her  to  me  ?" 

"  I  prefer  that  you  leave  her  with  me." 

"  I  will  not  1"  said  the  mother,  passionately,  throwing 
aside  her  long,  undressed  hair,  while  hot  tears  fell  down  the 
child's  face  as  she  held  towards  it  her  own. 

Jeanie  sprang  into  her  arms,  when  she  was  carried  from 
the  room.  Mr.  Miller  soon  heard  in  the  next,  the  sobs  of 
both.  He  could  not  remain  quiet,  but  sought  his  wife,  whom 
he  found  hugging  her  little  girl,  and  weeping  violently. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  59 

Little  Jeanie  had  been  appeased  with  a  ring  which  she  had 
taken  from  her  finger. 

He  had  rarely,  if  ever,  seen  his  wife  weep,  and  though  he 
had  long  since  endeavored  to  steel  his  heart  to  any  emotion 
she  might  exhibit,  he  disliked  to  have  her  think  he  would  be 
unreasonably  severe  with  her  child  ;  still,  the  keen  sense  of 
injustice  done  him,  withheld  an  apology. 

"Will  you,"  said  he,  sternly,  "deny  me  any  authority 
over  her  ?  She  will  be  ruined  by  this  insane  course  !" 

Every  tear  was  hastily  dried  on  Elinor's  cheek.  Her 
reply  was  brief,  but  agitated.  "  She  is  mine,  and  that  is 
enough  to  cause  you  to  ill-treat  her." 

"Do  you  suppose,  madam,  that  I  have  no  love  for  her  ?" 
"  I  know  not  who,  or  what  you  love,  but  I  know  that  she 
loves  me." 

Once,  cutting  would  have  been  these  reproachful  words — 
they  now  fell  light  as  straws  on  a  waveless  lake.  "  Shall  I 
allow,"  the  husband  continued,  "  disobedience  and  passion 
in  my  child  to  go  ungoverned  ?  Listen  to  me  !  I  speak  no 
idle  words !  She  shall  not  be  ruined  if" — Mr.  Miller's  eyes 
burned  like  coals — "  if — I  take  her  from  you."  As  the  hus 
band  spoke,  he  looked  at  his  inflamed  hands,  now  agonized 
with  pain.  "  Yes,  madame,  suffering  as  I  am  at  this 
moment,  with  the  anguish  caused  by  saving  her  from  the 
fire,  I  would  rather  this  right  hand  perished  there,  than  that 
she  grow  up  undisciplined." 

"  The  flames  1"  screamed  Elinor,  wildly.  "  You  did  not 
in  anger  drive  her  into  danger  so  perilous  1" 

Mr.  Miller  walked  the  room,  making  no  reply  ;  and  then 
sat  down  by  a  window. 

"  Jeanie  burn  papa's  papers,"  lisped  the  child,  running  to 
her  father's  knee,  climbing  there,  while  she  laid  her  cheek 
against  his. 

"  And  all  this  is  for  so  slight  a  cause  ?" 


60  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Any  explanation  of  this  matter  is  useless.  I  performed 
what  I  considered  my  duty  under  the  circumstances  ;  and 
henceforth  I  shall  do  the  same.  Though  we  agree  on  no 
other  point,  madam,  on  this  we  must  not  differ." 

Mr.  Miller  went  back  to  his  study.  He  felt  all  the  renewal 
of  past  misery.  He  had  believed  himself  insensible  to  the 
taunts  and  reproaches  of  his  wife,  whom  he  now  seldom 
spoke  to,  or  met. 

Must  he  give  up,  too,  his  darling  child  ?  know  her  daily 
weaned  from  him,  and  taught  to  believe  him  cruel  and 
heartless  ?  must  he  see  her  educated  as  her  mother  had 
been,  the  love  of  the  world  her  passion,  while  the  formation 
of  her  principles  constituted  no  part  of  her  culture  ?  Such 
were  the  queries  of  the  fond  father,  and  disappointed  hus 
band,  as  he  bowed  his  head  in  sorrow. 

For  the  period  of  three  years  he  had  borne  such  humilia 
tion  and  grief,  as  man  rarely  suffers.  Still,  he  argued,  duty 
demanded  him  to  cherish  and  protect  a  wife,  whose  impru 
dence,  without  his  care,  would  bring  dishonor  upon  them 
both.  He  learned,  the  first  year  of  his  marriage,  that  his 
love  and  characteristics  were  unappreciated,  and  that  to  her 
he  was  wholly  unknown. 

There  had  been  seasons,  but  they  were  seldom,  when  back 
upon  his  heart  came  the  tenderness  he  felt  for  her,  and  like 
a  pent-up  torrent  it  there  swelled,  nearly  bursting  its  prison. 
But  the  winter  of  his  sorrow  had  now  come  ;  dark  and  chill 
were  its  snows,  freezing  even  to  the  depths,  the  current  of 
his  love.  But  as  he  became  colder  and  more  distant,  Elinor 
was  curious  to  know  how  valuable  had  been  her  loss.  As 
her  once  ardent  worshipper  receded,  she  looked  after  him, 
yearning  for  his  truth,  which  she  found  not  elsewhere — for 
his  whole-souled  tenderness,  which  she  had  scorned,  but  now 
prized.  Yet  two  years  had  passed  since  she  had  received 
one  fond  look,  one  loving  word.  Her  vanity  was  wounded 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  61 

With  deep  emotion,  Mr.  Miller  saw  that  his  little  Jeanie 
was  like  her  mother — spirited  and  beautiful,  yet  how  affec 
tionate  !  With  infinite  satisfaction,  he  noted  the  growing 
love  between  the  brother  and  his  little  sister — an  attachment 
increasing  with  fervor  from  the  "hour  the  boy  felt  a  pair  of 
little  arms  about  his  neck,  while  in  lisping  accents  she  called 
him  "  brother."  With  the  ardor  of  his  nature,  he  devoted 
himself  tot  her  infancy  and  childhood.  "  Arthur  "  was  the 
first  name  she  breathed  when  she  awoke,  #nd  whether  the 
amusement  anticipated  was  a  frolic  in  his  arms,  a  spin  from 
his  top,  or  a  view  of  his  soaring  kite,  the  laugh  of  the 
merry  little  Jeanie  was  never  so  glad  as  when  excited  by  her 
boy-brother. 

Elinor  adored  her  child,  and  with  pride  saw  herself 
reflected  in  each  feature  and  motion  of  her  darling.  The 
training  of  the  little  one  gave  her  not  a  thought,  and  when 
in  ill-humor — a  term  she  always  applied  to  her  paroxysms 
of  rage — she  sent  her  to  the  nursery,  or  gave  her  into  the 
charge  of  Arthur.  Thus  much  with  the  latter  in  her  infant 
years,  she  imbibed  many  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  and 
from  her  young  preceptor  was  early  impressed  with  the  love 
liness  of  truth. 

But  from  the  time  that  the  mother  had  snatched  the 
child  from  its  father's  arms,  she  was  taught  secretly  to  avoid 
him,  and  both  by  the  former  and  its  grandmother  kept  pur 
posely  from  his  presence,  and,  with  plausible  excuses,  remote 
from  his  apartments. 

Thus  Elinor  Miller  had  defeated  her  husband  ;  but  she 
had  not  obtained  her  victory  without  a  heavy  cost,  and  the 
hour  was  fast  approaching,  when,  for  the  first  time,  she 
would  learn  the  character  of  him  she  had  despised.  He 
could  know  that  for  the  exchange  of  his  truth  and  love  he 
had  received  but  indifference  and  scorn,  and  make  no  sign 
of  his  grief  ;  but  his  child  ! — must  she  be  taught  likewise  to 


C2  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

hate  him  ?  No  ;  lie  had  other  plans  for  her,  but  time  wore 
away,  and  they  remained  unfulfilled.  In  the  same  house 
the  husband  and  wife  still  lived — but  separated.  She  had 
chosen  one  wing  of  the  establishment,  while  he  occupied  the 
other.  In  her  own  apartments  Mrs.  Miller  had  her  gay 
receptions  during  the  summer,  and  when  in  town,  was  equally 
secluded  from  her  husband,  where,  save  the  visits  received 
from  his  son,  he  lived  alone.  His  aversion  of  his  mother-in- 
law  had  finally  banished  her  from  his  presence,  making  her 
henceforth  his  spy,  and  open,  as  well  as  secret  enemy. 

Still  matters  of  business  brought  the  pair  occasionally 
together.  Jeanie  had  reached  her  fifth  year,  while  Mr.  Mil 
ler  saw  with  pain  her  culture  still  neglected  ;  and  in  his 
brief  interview  with  her,  that  she  had  already  imbibed  her 
mother's  love  for  display,  and  that  the  visions  that  filled  her 
infant  mind  were  based  on  the  passion. 

Bright  summers  had  winged  their  flight  with  the  unmated 
couple,  bringing  only  sterner  winter  to  their  hearts.  Gayer 
seasons  had  passed  in  town,  where  at  a  fashionable  hotel 
they  had  taken  lodgings,  Mrs.  Castleman  having  left  to 
attend  the  last  illness  and  probable  demise  of  her  wealthy 
sister-in-law,  Sally. 

Mr.  Miller  was  never  more  outwardly  respectful — the  wife 
never  more  publicly  deferential  ;  she  passing  for  a  gem  of 
sparkling  lustre — her  heart  a  living  coal  ;  he  for  a  worthy, 
benevolent  man,  insensible  as  an  anchorite.  But  there  were 
wifely  demands  exacted  of  him,  suiting  not  the  monastic 
order  ;  such  as  an  epicurean  taste  could  only  crave,  and  an 
hour  had  come  when  the  draft  was  heavy.  Gold  had  united 
them,  and  gold  soldered  from  time  to  time  the  nuptial  links. 

Elinor  requested  an  interview.  He  came,  his  passport 
with  him.  Mrs.  Miller  held  in  her  arms  her  prototype  in 
feature — the  child  of  their  mutual  love.  She  requested 
larger  sums  than  he  had  yet  bestowed, 'but  would  make  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  63 

payment  more  convenient  for  him  ;  and  hinted,  with  tones 
that  slightly  trembled,  the  wish  that  her  allowance  might  be 
drawn  without  the  trouble  and  humiliation  of  a  personal 
demand. 

"  If  you  will  send  the  child  from  the  room,  I  will  make 
arrangements  to  that  effect." 

But  instead,  Jeanie  flew  to  her  father's  side,  twining  his 
neck  with  her  little  arms.  It  was  a  week  since  he  had  held 
her.  Clasping  her,  he  drew  her  closer. 

"  Go  now — Arthur  wants  you." 

The  little  girl  with  a  bound  sprang  from  his  embrace,  and 
from  the  room,  leaving  her  parents  together.  For  some 
tune  neither  spoke.  The  wife  finally  looked  up  inquiringly. 
She  observed  her  husband  ;  his  noble  carriage  and  person, 
and  for  the  first  time,  as  she  glanced  at  her  own  in  a  mirror, 
thought  he  did  not  suffer  in  comparison  with  her.  She  con 
tinued  to  look  upon  him,  while  his  face  seemed  to  become 
like  stone,  so  hard  and  stern  each  feature  grew.  But  once 
before  had  she  seen  the  same  frigidity  of  expression.  It 
was  when  they  parted.  She  shuddered,  remembering  she 
had  raised  the  barrier,  and  he  had  left  it  standing. 

The  hardened  face  was  turned  for  the  utterance  of  words 
still  harder.  "  Yes,  it  is  time,"  he  said,  "  we  came  to  some 
arrangement  more  befitting  our  position — the  life  we  lead — 
together.  I  have  long  contemplated  it-;  no  apology  seems 
to  be  required  for  the  movement  upon  which  I  have 
resolved." 

Elinor's  form  was  bent  forward,  her  eyes  expanded,  and 
her  pale  lips  apart,  breathing  quicker,  as  she  clasped  her 
hands. 

"  Madam,  I  have  determined  to  save  you  the  trouble  and 
humiliation  of  personal  demands  upon  your  husband — a  sepa 
rate  maintenance  will  remove  this  unpleasant  necessity.  We 
must  live  apart,  not  united  as  now."  The  tone  was  sarcastic, 


64  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

as  well  as  sad  and  bitter.  Elinor's  countenance  growing 
pallid,  showed  that  she  was  unprepared  for  this. 

"You  are  shocked,  I  perceive,"  continued  the  husband, 
with  less  composure,  turning  his  eyes  from  the  beautiful,  pale 
features.  "  Once  I  could  not  have  said  as  much,  so  calmly, 
but  time  and  circumstances  have  aided  my  strength,  as  well 
as  resolution,  enabling  me  to  look  upon  you,  henceforth,  as  a 
stranger  in  my  home — an  alien  from  my  heart.  To  effect 
the  last  I  needed  aid — that  aid  has  been  furnished." 

With  a  groan,  Elinor's  head  bowed  over  her  hands. 

"The  world  will  be  surprised,"  continued  the  husband. 
"  We  have  seemed  to  sustain  the  conjugal  relation — the 
drama  has  been  well  played — to  the  end." 

Elinor  Miller  had  recovered  ;  and  though  motionless, 
speechless,  was  still  a  listener.  She  felt  annihilated — 
crushed  with  mortification  and  disgrace  ;  and  bitterly  that 
upon  herself  she  had  brought  her  future  humbled  position. 
She  called  her  pride  to  her  aid,  and  spoke. 

"  What  reason  do  you  propose  to  assign  to  the  world  for 
abandoning  me  ?" 

"Yes,  the  world  !  We  need  not  ask  ourselves  why — the 
world  will  need  some  vindication  of  the  step,  and  it  might 
seem  more  considerate  that  I  should  give  you  my  protection, 
the  support  of  a  husband's  confidence,  though  our  com 
munion  be  but  that  involving  debt  and  credit.  I  shall  amply 
provide  for  you,  leaving  you  to  choose  your  own  home,  and 
go  immediately  abroad." 

The  hue  of  death  now  overspread  the  cheek  of  the  dis 
carded  wife.  With  a  rush  of  agonized  feeling,  the  con 
sciousness  of  her  helpless  situation  came  over  her  ;  at  the 
age  of  three  and  twenty  years,  thrust  upon  a  censorious 
world,  discarded  by  a  husband,  faultless  in  its  estimation — 
sustaining  no  longer  the  position  of  an  honored,  if  not  a 
loving  wife.  In  the  violence  of  her  emotion,  she  could  have 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  G5 

cast  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  injured  husband,  and  implored 
him  to  recall  his  sentence.  In  this  hour,  she  appreciated 
and  respected  him.  But  with  unparted  lips  she  sat.  Had 
she  died  there,  she  would  have  remained  speechless — rooted 
to  the  spot. 

At  this  crisis,  Mrs.  Castleman,  who  had  returned  to  town, 
overhearing  enough  of  the  conversation  to  alarm  her,  sh'd 
in  at  the  door.  With  a  bland  convulsion  of  her  elastic  mus 
cles,  she  oozed  out  a  few  thick  words,  like  the  soft  droppings 
of  melted  butter,  which  became  thus  intelligible : 

"It  is  so  seldom  we  enjoy  such  a  meeting,  such  lovely 
weather,  under  such  sunny  prospects,  harmony  so  delightful, 
my  dear  children,  you  make  me  happy  in  this  blessed  union, 
cemented  by  enduring  ties,  privileges  so  sanctified,  and  lost 
for  time  and  eternity  by  an  unhappy  relict.  Elinor,  let  me 
see  you,  in  this  hour  of  blissful  autumn,  in  the  dropping  of 
the  leaves,  embrace  your  excellent,  and  most  respected 
partner." 

"  Madam  I"  spoke  Mr.  Miller,  sternly,  "have  done  !  your 
child  is  no  longer  my  wife,  but  in  name." 

The  widow  shook  her  wasted  hands  like  a  shaker  in  a 
religious  dance,  while  she  shrieked  as  through  a  cracked 
whistle, 

"  Oh  !  child  of  my  departed  Peter  !  and  she  a  Castleman 
— to  be  deputed  by  a  low-born  son  of  degradation,  and 
uprising  of  scum  !  Don't  you  remember,"  she  continued,  in 
a  voice  no  longer  buttered  but  shrill,  while  with  Randolph- 
like  energy  she  extended  her  fore-finger,  "  the  time  and  the 
hour  when  as  a  stranger  I  took  you  in  ?" 

"  Well,  madam  ?" 

"  And  when  the  Honorable  Tom  Castleman  lay  in  state, 
and  I  his  afflicted  relative,  how  I  sunk  myself,  to  elevate  you 
to  a  family  of  lordly  respectability,  by  giving  you  the 
daughter  of  Peter  Castleman  and  his  relict  ?" 


06  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"I  remember  the  time  to  which  you  allude." 

Mortification  and  rage  now  overpowered  the  grief  of 
Elinor.  Coming  towards  her  mother,  sne  spoke  as  if  from 
an  ^Etna  of  pent-fires.  "  Begone  !  and  leave  the  miserable 
to  their  own  doom  1  You  shall  not  disgrace  me  further  !  It 
is  enough  that  your  tongue  has  blasted  my  happiness  I" 

Like  a  cat,  whose  eyes  are  suddenly  blinked,  Mrs.  Castle- 
man  slid  through  the  door-way,  whence  entered  the  little 
bounding  Jeanie,  her  sweet  face  full  of  loving  emotion,  as  she 
clasped  to  her  bosom  a  white  pigeon.  "  Papa,  mamma,  see 
my  bird  1"  But  with  a  child's  discernment,  she  saw  that  she 
met  with  no  response  or  sympathy. 

"  Don't  you  like  my  dovey,  my  pretty  dovey  ?"  Jeanie 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  her  expression  bewildered. 

"  My  angel  1"  burst  from  the  lips  of  Elinor,  then  looking 
towards  her  husband,  said — "you  must  leave  me  her." 

"  No  !  she  will  be  taken  from  us  both,  and  placed  with  my 
Sister  Jane." 

"  No  1  no  1"  said  Elinor,  in  suffocated  tones.  "  You 
cannot  do  this  ;  you  may  sacrifice  me  in  your  cold-blooded 
malice,  but  I  will  have  my  child  !" 

"  May  I  put  my  dove  in  your  bosom,  mamma,"  lisped  little 
Jeanie. 

"  No!  go  away,  child!  go  away!  mamma  don't  love  birds 
to-day.  Elinor  awaited  her  husband's  reply." 

"  You  must  conform  to  my  wishes  without  opposition 
regarding  the  child.  By  acceding,  you  will  find  your  own 
situation  made  independent ;  but  if  you  thwart  my  plans 
you  do  it  at  your  loss." 

"  Sir,  the  law  will  provide  for  me  if  you  refuse  me  what 
is  due  my  marriage  claims." 

"  A  private  settlement  might  be  better  for  you,  madam." 

"  Is  there  no  appeal  from  this  ? — I  mean  for  Jeanie  ?" 

"  None  !  my  resolutions  are  formed." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  6t 

"  You  cannot  do  this  cruel  thing  ?" 

The  change  in  the  appearance  and  manner  of  the  cast-off 
wife  would  have  once  unmanned  her  resolute  but  suffering 
husband.  Had  she  once  plead  as  now — had  she  even  done 
a  guilty  thing — one  whisper  of  feeling,  one  tone  of  agony  in 
her  voice,  would  have  melted  him  ;  but  year  after  year  she 
had  benumbed  the  vitality  of  his  love.  Had  she  excited  his 
anger  to  violence,  he  could  have  forgiven  her  ;  but  she  had 
withered  the  root  of  his  affection,  and  the  proud  woman's 
portion  was  nought  but  contempt  and  desertion. 

Rising,  more  composed,  she  said  : 

"Are  your  plans  matured?  When  do  you  act  upon 
them  ?" 

"  Immediately." 

Mr.  Miller  did  not  seek  the  effect  of  his  reply,  but  left 
hastily.  He  stopped,  hearing  a  groan — a  fall.  He  returned  ; 
his  wife  lay  in  a  swoon  upon  the  carpet. 

"  Jeanie,"  he  exclaimed,  "  call  the  servants — your  grand 
mother."  He  rang  the  bell  violently,  and  left  the  house. 


68  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTEK    VI. 

IT  had  been  a  gloomy,  rainy  day.  Mr.  Miller  had 
occupied  himself  in  his  city  Jjpme  in  preparation  for 
his  departure  for  Europe.  He  sat  long  by  the  window 
casement  of  his  room,  looking  down  abstractedly  upon  the 
scarcely  discernible  street-lamps,  for  thick  was  the  mist  and 
black  the  atmosphere.  The  rain  briskly  showered  the  window- 
panes — his  only  music  the  splurging  sound  of  city  gutters, 
the  pattering  on  muddy  pavements.  He  thought  of  a  rain 
in  the  country,  where  the  freshened  green  of  nature  seems 
to  make  the  soul  more  green — where  flowers,  with  their  rose 
and  violet  cups  hold  up  their  drooping  heads,  to  wash  their 
faces,  like  young  children  for  a  holiday — where  the  birds 
dip  their  beaks  in  leafy  goblets,  darting  in  and  out,  shaking 
their  gold  and  purple  feathers,  as  if  for  them  each  drop  of 
jewelled  water  sparkled,  each  ray  of  sunlight,  quivering 
through  the  leaves,  was  a  rainbow  for  their  crests.  But 
what  to  him  was  now  the  most  beautiful  gushing  from 
Heaven's  fount,  though  like  countless  rays  of  sunlit  silver,  it 
shimmered  down  over  the  blossom-laden  boughs  of  his  old 
loved  home.  About  his  heart  there  was  a  flood  of  feeling 
welling  upwards  from  a  deeper  source,  and  darkness  brood 
ing  over  his  spirit,  gloomier  than  that  of  the  most  murky  sky. 
He  had  taken  leave  of  his  son,  and  resolved  to  go  to  the 
chamber  of  his  little  girl,  which  required  him  to  pass  his 
wife's  apartment.  Walking  lightly  by,  he  entered,  with 
hushed  footsteps,  the  room  where  his  darling  lay.  He  found 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  69 

her  asleep,  hugging  her  doll.  Around  it  twined  her  dimple 
arms,  her  lips  parted,  breathing  softly. 

It  was  a  cherub  face — the  mother's  beauty — yet  so  dove- 
like  1  Years  might  intervene  before  he  saw  her  again.  A 
new  life  would  open  upon  her  :  she  might  be  homesick,  and 
pine  for  her  mother — she  might  die  in  his  absence,  bereft  of 
both  parents ;  and  she  might  be  saved,  and  live  a  useful, 
rational  woman.  With  a  judicious  education  he  hoped  for 
a  good  result.  Bred  himself  in  the  country,  its  homely 
pleasures  were  associated  with  all  his  purest,  sweetest 
emotions.  He  would  have  his  little  Jeanie  taste  the  same  ; 
and  under  the  guidance  of  holiness  and  truth,  be  all  that  he 
had  once  imagined  his  lost  Elinor.  And  yet,  as  she  lay 
there — with  her  hair  waving  about  her  brow — asleep,  clasp 
ing  tenderly  the  waxen  image,  did  there  not  seem  enough  of 
the  angel  to  be  trusted  to  its  own  sweet  nature,  and 
indulgent  affection  ?  At  that  moment  he  might  have  yielded 
to  a  mother's  pleadings  ;  but  passing  the  doorway,  he  saw 
the  now  odious  face  of  her  grandmother,  seeking  her  owu 
room.  It  was  enough.  Elinor  might  have  looked  once  like 
the  little  Jeanie.  The  husband,  with  his  embittered  soul, 
his  bitter  memories,  might  have  erred  ;  but  his  confidence, 
once  so  holy,  in  a  wife  and  mother,  had  fled. 

Agonized  with  the  parting,  he  knelt  by  the  couch  of  his 
child,  then  with  a  light  kiss  on  the  lily  brow,  he  left  her 
with  protecting  angels — passing  out  and  onwards  in  the 
now  darkened  hall.  He  felt  a  stranger  and  intruder  there. 
As  he  went  again  by  the  chamber  of  his  wife,  all  seemed 
still :  no  sound  was  heard  but  the  still  pattering  of  the  rain 
drops,  the  sighing  of  the  wind.  The  light  glimmered  in  the 
parlor  adjoining  her  sleeping  apartment:  the  wind  blew  a 
gust,  sending  against  the  window-panes  a  blind,  causing  a 
crash  of  the  glass,  and  pouring  in  of  the  rain.  He  lupul- 
sively  walked  into  the  room,  and  closed  the  shutters  quietly, 


70  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

as  if  he  feared  to  waken  an  infant  child,  instead  of  an 
unloved  wife.  As  lie  left  the  casement,  the  door  of  Elinor's 
room  opened,  when  she  came  out,  in  deshabille,  wrapped  in 
a  shawl,  her  hair  unconfined,  and  her  eyes  staring  wildly, 
not  as  if  roused  from  sleep,  but  as  if  alarmed.  Seeing  her 
husband,  she  sank  on  a  couch  with  a  groan.  At  that 
moment  he  had  nearly  relented,  and  drawn  the  sufferer  to 
his  bosom. 

Elinor  had  not  slept,  but  sat  until  the  hour  of  one,  con 
templating  her  fate — the  mortification  awaiting  her,  the  doom 
she  had  brought  upon  herself,  and  for  the  first  time  reflected. 
As  her  husband  was  about  to  part  for  ever  from  her,  she 
realized  his  goodness  ;  asking  herself  why  she  had  not  valued 
his  affection  and  kept  it.  Why  had  she  believed  him  so 
far  beneath  her  ? — why  had  she  not  looked  at  his  nobleness, 
instead  of  his  birth  ?  Why  had  she  not  studied  his  charac 
teristics,  and  tried  to  overcome  her  prejudices  ;  and  worse, 
blind  fool  !  why  had  she  felt  so  secure  of  the  idolatry  of  one 
she  had  ever  seemed  to  scorn — enduring  him  as  if  with 
loathing — finally  bidding  him  leave  her  alone.  Her  pride 
had  then  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  the  gossip  that  would 
ensue  with  the  revelation  of  the  truth,  and  she  determined 
to  keep  secret  their  alienation,  and  preserve  a  show  of  con 
jugal  good  will.  Well,  in  this  hour  of  wretchedness,  did  she 
remember  the  husband's  frigid  assent  to  her  terms,  and 
henceforth  the  scrupulous  adherence  to  the  promise. 

The  world  and  her  admirers  had  demanded  too  much  of 
her  time,  to  note  that  the  man  of  ice  was  turning  into  stone ; 
and  that  in  return  he  was  framing  proposals  for  her. 
While  anglers,  with  glittering  bait,  sat  at  her  side,  her 
smiles  their  reward,  she  thought  not  that  he,  to  whom  she 
paid  "  respect,"  could  be  unreasonable — craving  more. 

But  to-night  she  sat  hearing  the  rain — the  beatings  of  a 
guilty  conscience — seeing  the  substance  in  the  past  ;  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  71 

black  shadows  of  a  future ;  and  knew  that  henceforth  she 
was  a  cast-off  wife — wedded,  yet  widowed — that  she  would, 
by  a  community  that  had  yielded  her  deference,  be  looked 
at,  gazed  at,  speculated  upon — worse — suspected. 

For  moments  the  husband  stood  viewing  the  abandonment 
of  her  attitude  ;  her  crushed  look  !  She  seemed  younger, 
more  requiring  of  protection.  He  fancied,  in  the  brief  time 
since  they  last  met,  that  suffering  had  sunken  her  cheek,  and 
that  her  eyes  were  hollow  and  tear-stained.  Looking  up, 
she  said  : — 

"  Why  have  you  come  here  to  add  to  my  misery  ?" 

"I  did  not  know  that  you  were  up.  I  came  to  see  our 
child  ;  but  as  we  have  again  met,  we  need  not  grudge  each 
other  a  civil  parting." 

He  held  forth  his  hand.  Hers  was  not  raised,  but  lay 
near  him  on  the  sofa.  He  took  it  in  his.  For  more  than 
two  years  a  finger  of  hers  had  not  come  in  contact  with  his 
own.  The  small  one  trembled  violently.  He  clasped  it  as 
if  hi  a  vice,  while  he  exclaimed  : — 

"  My  God  !  that  I  should  suffer  this  !" 

"  Yet,  you  will " 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  morrow  will  come,  and  another  morrow  of 
misery  ;  but,  Elinor,  before  I  go,  let  me  implore  you,  not  for 
my  sake — no,  not  for  mine — but  for  our  little  one,  that  you 
will  not  forget  the  value  of  a  mother's  example." 

"  What  will  my  example  be  to  her  ?" 

"  I  have  taken  her  from  you,  not  to  grieve  you;  I  feel  it  a 
duty  which  I  owe  to  her.  This  is  a  reproach,  a  heavy  one, 
I  grant  it ;  but  the  time  will  come,  when  she  will  be  affected 
by  your  course  in  life." 

"  And  for  you  ?" 

"  Elinor,  I  ask  henceforth  nothing  in  life  of  you.  I  dare 
not  look  forward,  excepting  to  another  world.  That  future 
concerns  us  both  alike.  It  is  almost  morning;  you  will  take 


72  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

•  , 

cold  here."  A  smothered  "  good-bye"  passed  the  lips  of  the 
husband.  Elinor  sank  back  silently  on  the  sofa  pillow.  Mr. 
Miller  saw  the  wretchedness  of  the  action,  and  added  : — 

"  For  the  present  there  is,  there  can  be  no  change. 
Years  may  effect  what  a  shorter  period  cannot.  Now,  I 
have  no  feeling,  no  sympathy.  I  know  the  source  of  your 
agony ;  but  did  one  ..latent  feeling  burn  in  your  breast  for 
me,  even  though  it  were  akin  to  love,  I  could  not  return  it 
now.  It  is  enough  that  when  you  came  to  these  arms  a 
bride,  that  I  believed  you  loved  me,  and  found  myself  an 
object  of  your  loathing." 

"  My  mother,"  groaned  Elinor. 

"  Yes  ;  in  her  love  of  gold,  lay  the  curse.  Yet  I  would 
have  you  honor  her — it  is  God's  command.  I  shall  leave 
you  provided  for.  You  will  find  directions  for  your  pecu 
niary  matters,  and  from  me  will  need  no  more." 

The  wind  moaned  and  the  skies  grew  no  lighter — but 
darker  as  the  husband  and  wife  parted.  How  did  they 
meet  again  I 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  73 


CHAPTER   VII. 

r  I  ">HE  difficulty  attending  the  separation  of  Jeanie  from 
I  her  mother  had  been  foreseen  by  Mr.  Miller,  and 
knowing  that  she  could  successfully  thwart  him,  had  resolved 
to  buy  her  acquiescence.  He  accordingly  offered  to  convey 
to  her  half  of  his  estate,  upon  the  conditions  tha^  her  educa 
tion  during  childhood,  should  be  under  his  direction — 
although  permitted  to  visit  her  mother  annually,  until  she 
attained  the  age  of  fifteen,  when  she  would  have  the  liberty 
of  selecting  her  home  with  either  parent. 

Policy  determined  the  wife  to  accede  to  the  terms  proposed, 
lest  by  insisting  upon  her  legal  rights,  she  might  not  only 
become  a  loser  pecuniarily,  but  still  further  incur  her  hus 
band's  displeasure,  and  perhaps  provoke  the  publicity 
attendant  upon  a  divorce,  which  she  deprecated. 

This  matter  had  been  settled  in  writing  between  them, 
without  personal  conference. 

Mrs.  Miller  resolved  to  remain  for  the  winter  in  the  lodg 
ings  in  which  she  was  left. 

Little  Jeanie  had  bitterly  grieved  at  parting  with  Arthur. 
The  son  was  old  enough  to  feel-  the  situation  of  his  father, 
and  contemplated  it  with  depth  of  emotion.  With  solici 
tude  he  had  for  years  looked  upon  the  coldness  daily  increas 
ing  ;  and  often  with  indignation,  as  he  witnessed  the  total 
disregard,  and  scornful  bearing  with  which  his  step-mother 
demeaned  herself  towards  his  father  ;  but  the  inexperience 
of  the  boy  anticipated  no  such  painful  denouement. 

4 


74  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Kissing  away  the  tears  of  his  little  sister,  he  vowed  to 
make  any  sacrifice  for  her  happiness — a  vow  made  with  boy 
ish  fervor,  foreseeing  not  in  the  future  how  painful  would  be 
the  task  of  its  fulfillment. 

Before  bidding  adieu,  he  led  her  to  her  mother.  With 
hysterical  weeping  she  was  received. 

Holding  out  her  jewelled  fingers  to  the  tall  boy,  so  changed, 
with  more  feeling  than  he  had  ever  known  her  exhibit 
towards  him,  she  said  : 

"  Arthur,  you  have  been  good  to  little  Jeanie.  I  allowed 
you  to  name  her  ;  was  not  this  a  proof  of  my  good-will  ?" 

"  I  appreciated  it,  madam." 

"Bid  mamma  good-bye,"  said  the  little  girl,  taking  her 
brother's  hand. 

"  For  Jeanie's  sake,  may  we  not  be  friends  ?" 

Mrs.  Miller  took  a  ring  from  her  finger,  and  presented  it 
with  a  smile  ;  such  as  once  would  have  made  him  her  slave. 

"  I  cannot  accept  it."     Arthur  retreated. 

"  I  know  " — the  blood  kindling  on  her  cheek — "  I  have  no 
right  to  ask  your  love  ;  I  was  too  young  to  assume  the  rela 
tion  in  which  I  stood  to  you,  when  I  took  your  father's 
name,  but  I  am  older  now." 

' "  My  mother  is  in  heaven.  I  have  no  recollection  of  her, 
but  there  was  a  time  when  I  first  saw  you — when  you  came 
to  her  home — I  felt  that  she  Tiad  come  back  to  me.  I  shall 
never  forget  that  day — how  I  had  watched  for  you — how 
foolish,  and  yet  how  glad  I  was — how  I  ran  to  the  carriage, 
my  heart  bursting  with  desire  to  see  my  mother.  But,  Mrs. 
Miller,  that  was  my  last  dream  of  one  on  earth." 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  this?"  She  felt  the  boy's 
reproaches.  "  We  might  have  been  better  friends.  I  have 
never  disliked  you,  but  you  have  coldly  avoided  me.  Yes, 
Arthur,  we  might  have  loved  each  other.  Cannot  you  think 
kindly  of  Jeanie's  mother  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  75 

"  Jeanie's  mother  was  my  father's  wife'.  If  this  relation 
could  not  make  us  friends,  I  know  of  no  tie  that  can."  The 
face  of  the  boy  was  turned  from  his  step-mother.  "  All  you 
or  I  can  say  cannot  bring  him  back,  or  make  him  happy." 

"  Have  I  not  enough  to  contend  with,"  said  Mrs.  Miller, 
impatiently,  "  without  these  allusions  ?  I  have  heard 
enough  to  know  your  feelings  towards  me  ;  but,  know  this, 
son  of  Archibald  Miller,  that  it  may  lie  in  my  power  to  show 
you  friendship,  when  you  will  not  scorn  it.  I  have  offered 
you  what  I  never  did  another — a  pledge  of  my  fidelity." 

"  You  forget,  madam  1  you  forget !  Did  you  never  offer 
another  fidelity  ?" 

The  hot  blood  rushed  to  Elinor's  temples.  "  If  you  have 
come  here,"  said  she,  impetuously,  "  to  remind  me  of  obli 
gations,  you  can  go.  One  word  more,  and  I  will  forbid  your 
intercourse  with  Jeanie." 

The  little  girl's  arms  were  now  about  her  brother's  neck. 

"That  would  be  hard,"  said  Arthur.  "Shall  I  leave 
Jeanie  with  you,  Mrs.  Miller  ?" 

"  Yes  ;"  turning  from  the  boy  with  haughty  grace. 

With  a  bow,  Arthur  passed  over  the  threshold. 


76  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  old  farm-house  where  Deacon  Selden,  or  "  Grand 
pa'  "  lived,  and  where  his  two  daughters,  Lucy  and 
Jane  were  born,  was  in  the  same  county  where  Mr.  Miller's 
early  days  were  passed,  else  the  latter  might  not  have  found 
the  little  pale  violet  that  he  took  to  his  home  in  his  young 
manhood,  so  soon  to  lay  her  beneath  the  wild  blossoms  of 
the  soil — emblematic  of  her  sweetness  and  purity. 

It  was  an  antiquated,  brown  tenement,  situated  a  mile 
from  the  village  of  Meadowbrook,  with  broad,  low  rooms, 
each  side  of  a  little  square  entry,  a  place  just  big  enough  to 
hold  the  deacon's  hat,  and,  it  might  be,  another,  besides  a 
door-mat.  It  was  a  dark  place,  this  entry,  but  a  noisy  one 
when  the  lion-headed  knocker  fell  a-rajiping,  not  only  awak 
ing  the  quiet  household,  but,  without  fail,  starting  to  his  feet 
a  small  black  dog,  who  barked,  keeping  time  with  the  iron 
knocker,  until  Miss  Jane  or  Keturah  Sprunt  came  to  the 
door.  It  was  a  red  door,  and  opened  upon  a  porch  with 
wooden  seats,  over  which  arched  or  peaked  a  shingle  roof, 
where  the  honeysuckles  climbed,  and  the  sweet-brier  roses 
showered  their  blossoms,  as  graciously  as  if  it  were  instead 
a  marble  court.  And  the  yard,  through  which  was  a  walk 
of  small  cobble-stones,  where  many  a  Picciola  bloomed,  was 
full  of  bushes — "  lalocs,"  as  Grandpa'  called  them — besides 
cinnamon,  and  beautiful  damask  roses,  that  never  were 
known  to  yield  more  than  two  full-grown  blossoms  towards 
the  last  of  August,  faithfully  as  Jane  Selden  watered  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  77 

bush.  It  was  astonishing  how  backward  these  roses  were, 
and  how  much  more  these  blushing  only  children  were  thought 
of,  than  the  whole  family  of  young  cinnamons,  who  came  every 
spring  as  plentifully  as  children  to  a  poor  minister.  But 
besides  this,  there  was  another  yard  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fence,  where  the  wood  was  piled,  and  the  well  was,  with  its 
long  pole,  and  old  bucket,  swinging  thereto  ;  also  a  place  for 
poultry  to  range,  and  pick  up  crumbs  with  permission  or  with 
out  ;  having  no  especial  home  excepting  at  roosting  time,  and 
then,  no  matter  what  the  occasion  or  allurement,  even  though 
it  might  be  a  fresh  arrival  of  fast  young  pullets  on  a  pic-nyj 
excursion  ;  orderly,  broad  daylight  still  shining,  the  solemn 
hens  with  old  and  young  strutting  roosters,  their  half-grown, 
long-legged  offspring  fluttering  and  scratching  under  fences, 
others  flying  and  straddling  over  pickets  to  join  the  company 
— all  went  soberly  to  bed. 

Every  one  who  has  ever  been  in  the  farm-country  of  New 
England,  knows  what  a  place  it  was — how  secluded,  green, 
and  cosy,  the  parlor  and  keeping  room,  with  its  simple  fur 
niture,  and  well-ordered  propriety  ;  its  books,  consisting  of 
the  old  family  Bible,  Watts'  Hymns,  and  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
with  smaller  samples  of  pious  literature,  arranged  likewise 
orderly.  Neither  must  we  forget  in  the  corner  of  the  last- 
mentioned  room,  the  tall,  wooden  clock,  reaching  from  the 
floor  to  the  ceiling — a  Gogmagog  to  modern  inventions — 
standing  like  old  father  Time,  solemn  and  monitory,  telling 
with  each  point  of  its  steel  fingers,  each  sound  of  its  brazen 
tongue,  each  measured  intonation  of  its  deep-toned  voice,  as 
to  and  fro,  to  and  fro  it  swung  and  ticked,  ticked  and 
swung,  like  a  great  heart-beating  machine,  doling  out  its 
life-seconds,  telling  of  another  moment  passed,  of  eternity 
neared. 

And  where  else  was  such  a  sofa  out  of  New  England,  as 
at  old  Deacon  Selden's  ?  A  sofa  with  big  rolling  arms,  like 


78  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

a  fat  aunt's  shoulders,  under  which  two  ample  pillows  like 
babies  snuggled,  with  elevated  back  and  round  stomach,  the 
whole  covered  with  flowered  chintz,  where  birds  and  beasts 
congregated,  and  Chinese  pagodas,  piled  under  the  shade  of 
waving  plantains — a  zoological,  geographical,  and  botanical 
chart,  for  the  study  of  the  children  in  the  family,  especially 
at  prayer-time  ;  a  sofa  ample  enough  to  sit — not  companion- 
less — with  the  fairy  shape  of  eighteen,  or  when,  by  a  freak 
of  nature,  some  twenty-five  years  later,  expanded  into  full 
blown  dimensions  ;  a  sofa  good  for  lolling  or  napping  ;  a 
sofa  on  which  you  stayed  instead  of  bounding  off  like  an 
India-rubber  ball  when  you  struck  ;  where  you  sunk  with  a 
feeling  of  warm  security,  "making  your  mark"  as  you  came 
out  of  it — not  sliding  about  on  hair  like  an  eel  on  an  ice- 
pond,  or  dislocating  your  spine  or  collar-bone  in  the  process 
of  making  yourself  easy  ;  no — instead,  it  embodied  your 
idea  of  sofa  comfort,  whether  enjoyed,  tete-a-tete,  individually 
or  collectively  ;  inducing  a  feeling  of  affectionateness  towards 
it,  that  remained  with  you  through  life,  from  the  time  it  told 
its  whispering  love-tales,  to  the  hour  it  cosily  nestled  your 
babies  hi  its  downy  corners  ;  a  sofa,  to  a  New  Englander, 
associated  with  his  childhood  and  maturity,  with  grand 
mothers  and  great-grandmothers  ;  with  his  maiden  elderly 
relatives  and  old  fussy  uncles,  and  all  the  big  and  little  con 
nections  that  had  ever  napped  on  it,  tumbled  it,  and  shook  it 
Into  shape  again. 

But  there  was  an  up-stairs  as  well  as  down-stairs  at 
Grandpa'  Selden's,  and  plenty  of  rooms,  not  all  square  or 
convenient,  but  enough  of  them,  whether  oblong,  hexagon, 
octagon,  or  catecornered  ;  and  however  small  or  ill-shapen, 
each  had  a  bed  in  it  for  somebody,  and  all  were  clean  and 
tidy,  for  Aunt  Jane  was  housekeeper. 

Then  there  was  a  garret — not  an  attic,  with  servants' 
rooms  and  prison  windows — but  a  garret  such  as  a  child 


T  H  R  o'u  G  ii    THE    WOOD.  79 

never  forgets — dearer  to  memory  than  all  the  salons  he 
ever  afterwards  owns,  or  visits  ;  where  "hiding  coop"  was 
played,  and  "  tag,"  "  King  George,"  and  the  "  Barberry 
bush  " — where  the  rats  scampered,  and  danced  jigs  at  night, 
and  children  ransacked  in  the  day-time — where  bins  of  corn 
were  kept,  and  walnuts  and  butternuts  stored  away  in  the 
fall — where  the  boys  hung  their  pop-corn  ears,  and  grand 
ma'  her  herbs — where  old  family  portraits,  by  daub  artists, 
were  stored,  and  old  rubbish  kept  for  generations,  moth- 
eaten  books,  swing  cradles,  and  broken  chairs,  and  all  else 
fractured  in  limb,  bone,  or  sinew — where  rope  swings  were 
hung  from  crazy  old  beams,  laden  with  cracked  and  broken 
utensils — where  thousands  of  nondescript  things  were  hid  in 
dark  corners,  out  of  which  children  made  spooks  and  hob 
goblins — and,  lastly,  where  most  unexpectedly  and  mysteri 
ously,  as  if  brought  by  genii  from  regions  unknown,  are 
found  in  old  hats  and  fire-buckets,  little  blind-eyed  black  and 
white  kittens,  around  which  purrs  the  cat  of  the  household — 
all  scaring,  thrilling,  yet  delighting,  exciting  the  wish  with  a 
juvenile  company,  to  go  into  the  garret  again. 

But  in  whatever  state  this  rat  and  child  play-ground,  its 
counterpart  was  not  seen  below,  at  Grandpa'  Selden's,  though 
no  room  equalled  Aunt  Jane's  for  neatness.  Hers  was  a 
cosy  spot,  where  a  fly  did  not  dare  settle  himself,  though  by 
way  of  exploration  an  adventurer  might  take  a  chance  peep 
within,  and  pass  out,  sparing  a  brush  of  his  tiny  wings 
against  her  snowy  curtains.  It  made  you  think  of  Jane  Sel- 
den  as  vividly  as  a  sight  of  her  spotless  forehead,  or  little 
white  ears.  It  looked  Jane  all  over.  The  very  pillow  cases 
in  their  purity,  brought  to  mind  the  white  cheek  with  its 
smooth,  silken  hair,  nicely  capped,  that  lay  upon  them,  and 
left  them  untumbled.  The  toilette-table,  with  its  muslin 
covering,  its  pincushion,  and  stuck  letters,  read  "  Jane." 
The  little  vase  of  early  flowers  betokened  Jane  in  her  nnpre- 


80  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

tending  sweetness,  and  every  drawer,  gown,  collar,  or  apron, 
was  as  good  a  likeness  of  her  as  a  faithful  daguerreotype — 
for  they  were  all  plainly  arranged,  and  like  herself,  spotless. 
The  tiny  shoes  that  hung  in  their  cupboard  casings,  were 
like  nothing  else,  or  larger  than  Jane  Selden's  little  cotton- 
hosed  foot ;  and  to  have  ever  given  Jane's  room  for  twelve 
hours  to  any  one  less  pure,  less  neat  and  precise,  would  have 
seemed  a  sacrilege.  Opposite  hers  was  one  affording  a 
melancholy  contrast,  but  as  good  a  picture  of  its  occupant, 
Mr.  Zebedee  Flint. 

Grandpa  and  grandma  slept  down  stairs,  and  so  did 
Keturah  Sprunt. 

It  was  a  large  farm — Deacon  Selden's — and  worked 
"by  the  halves" — grandpa  and  Zebedee  not  doing  much; 
the  first  in  consequence  of  old  age,  and  the  latter  from 
inactivity,  and  other  ailments,  which  seemed  chronics,  though 
not  affecting  his  appetite,  or  general  health.  He  was  not 
young,  being  on  the  shady  side  of  forty;  but  had  always 
excited  the  sympathy  of  grandma,  in  consequence  of  being 
an  "  orphan,"  and  having  been  humored  when  he  was 
little — therefore  little  was  demanded  of  him.  He  had  been 
a  member  of  the  family  for  ten  years,  expecting  to  get  into 
business,  but  never  having  any  luck  that  way,  it  was  feared 
that  he  never  would.  He  had  not  been  bred  a  farmer,  and 
his  father  having  been  like  himself,  "  unlucky,"  there  was 
little  or  no  money  in  the  family;  and  as  he  found  the  world 
inhospitable,  living  around  without  it,  he  came  to  make  the 
deacon  a  visit.  Everybody  knew,  "  it  wasn't,"  as  he  said,  "so 
easy  to  get  into  business  " — especially  when  no  one  offered  it 
to  him,  which  in  Zebedec's  case,  seemed  not  likely  ever  to 
take  place,  as  he  habitually  expressed  his  fears  that  he  was 
"  not  equal  to  any  exertion."  His  surname  of  Flint,  was 
often  lost  sight  of,  and  he  had  remained  so  long  a  bache 
lor,  it  was  hardly  supposed  he  would  ever  bestow  it  upon 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  81 

any  one  else  ;  consequently,  it  was  slighted  by  people  in 
general. 

Zebedee  was  not  a  handsome  man,  and  yet  could  not  be 
called  uiiimpressible  in  his  exterior — an  effect  partly  owing 
to  his  habiliments,  and  the  way  he  wore  them.  His  coat 
was  invariably  snuff  color,  and  his — what  shall  we  call 
them  ?  by  no  name  suggesting  the  idea  of  kneebuckles,  or 
silken  hose,  for  Zebedee  Flint  was  not  exactly  an  "  old 
school  gentleman  " — neither  would  any  modern  tailor  recog 
nize  in  his  outward  man  anything  belonging  to  his  profes 
sional  calling.  We  must,  therefore,  delicately  hint  that 
these  ambiguous  moulds,  in  which  he  was  run,  were  of 
indigo  blue,  always  tight  and  short,  giving  his  attenuated 
figure,  a  "  fell  away  "  expression. 

Miss  Betsey  Washburn  made  his  clothes,  and  either  from 
some  lack  of  skill,  or  some  fanciful  idea  of  airiness,  she 
imparted  to  his  coat  tails  a  looseness,  which  ill  accorded 
with  the  tightness  below. 

But  Mr.  Zebedee  Flint  and  his  apparel  were  as  much 
incorporated  as  his  soul  and  body;  and  no  one  who  had 
accidentally  seen  the  last,  in  a  state  of  divorcement  from 
their  mortal  part,  could  have  been  made  to  believe  that  he 
was  not  somewhere  thereabouts.  His  hair  was  scant,  and 
of  a  number  of  shades  all  darkening  as  he  grew  older,  to 
iron  grey;  his  skin,  owing  to  pill  taking,  to  which  he  was 
addicted,  of  a  nankeen  color.  His  mouth  was  "like  the 
Flints';"  grandma  said,  but  its  peculiarities  the  reader 
can  best  imagine.  He  could  make  it  large  to  any  extent, 
but  ever  failed  to  contract  it;  it  was  a  mouth  discernible 
and  capacious,  and  a  mouth  full  of  teeth  of  all  sizes  and 
patterns;  it  was  a  mouth  under  his  nose — nearly,  and  fell 
short  of  his  ears,  and  whether  twisted,  open,  or  shut,  was  a 
mouth  to  be  seen  and  not  forgotten.  Its  expression  seldom 
varied,  and  resembled  that  of  a  cat-fish.  He  was  rarely 

4* 


82  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

known  to  smile  ;  though  something  approaching  to  a 
twinkle  was  seen  in  his  eye;  and  a  slight  convulsion  of  the 
gills,  when  he  felt  himself  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  deacon's 
daughter. 

Energy  could  not  safely  be  called  one  of  his  character 
istics,  it  being  chiefly  exhibited  in  his  purposes.  In  action, 
he  generally  failed.  For  fishing  and  hunting  he  showed 
some  zeal  and  perseverance;  but  for  the  former,  he  cared 
not  whether  he  caught  trout  or  pumpkin-seed ;  and  preferred 
to  shoot  rats  rather  than  any  other  game.  He  prided 
himself  on  being  a  good  shot — else  he  would  not  have 
aimed,  if  slily,  at  Jane. 

He  felt  as  sure  of  her,  as  if  she  was  a  bloody  crow, 
coming  over  a  corn-field — his  spoil.  He  felt  the  strength 
of  his  ammunition,  and  confidence  in  his  unerring  aim;  but 
he  liked  to  watch  his  victim,  to  fancy  her  escaping  from  his 
trap,  while  he  glided  cautiously,  softly  after  her,  seeing  her 
with  his  grey  twinkling  eyes,  anticipating  the  time  when  he 
would  clutch  her. 

It  was  his  day  and  night  dream,  how  he  should  catch 
Jane. 

But  this  was  Mr.  Flint's  private  business  ;  he  did  not  talk 
of  it  publicly,  as  he  did  of  making  a  fortune,  despairing 
only  to  the  old  people,  whom  he  kept  in  a  state  of  lively 
sympathy,  and  had  done  for  ten  years,  they  hoping  some 
day  he  would  "  turn  to  and  work." 

So  year  after  year  he  vegetated  at  the  farm,  with  uncer 
tain  prospects — often  thinking,  he  would  set  up  a  tin  store, 
or  study  law,  where  he  could  earn  his  salt,  though  Keturah 
knew  he  never  would  the  pepper  and  mustard  she  put  on 
his  back.  The  bachelor  was  subject  to  lumbago. 

Between  Zebedee  and  Keturah  there  was  ever  an  unde 
clared  war  in  agitation,  animosity  perhaps  engendered  by 
their  dissimilarity.  •  Keturah  being  smart,  voluble,  and 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  83 

demonstrative;  and  though  the  help  of  the  family,  was  no 
small  or  inconsiderable  personage  in  it.  She  could,  she 
avowed,  clear  a  ten-railed  fence,  with  a  live  rooster  under 
each  arm,  while  Mr.  Flint  was  wondering  at  the  foot  how 
he  should  get  over,  and  "  tackle  every  critter  hi  the  barn," 
while  the  old  bachelor  was  heading  the  turkeys  to  get 
there,  they  generally  taking  umbrage  at  the  red  hand 
kerchief  that  streamed  from  his  somewhat  luxurious  coat 
tails. 

Keturah  too,  professed  to  despise  ailing  people,  being, 
herself  sound  in  bone  and  limb.  She  had  no  charity  for 
complaints,  much  less  for  silent  anguish,  preferring,  she 
said,  yells  and  roars,  to  small  whines  and  short  grunts;  and 
would  rather  hear  Parson  Longyarn  preach  to  "  ninthly," 
than  to  hear  morning,  noon,  and  night  how  Mr.  Flint  felt — 
if  his  feelings  "  wasn't  agreeable,"  it  was  none  of  her 
business,  and  "  to  his  own  disgrace." 

Mr.  Zebedee  Flint  did  not  profess  to  have  much  bodily 
strength.  Keturah  did. 

Keturah  Sprunt  was,  by  general  consent,  the  main-stay 
of  the  family;  doing  the  work,  besides  making  butter  and 
cheese  for  market.  She  was  also  ready  to  wait  on  the 
table,  or  sit  down  to  it,  as  she  liked  best;  she  finished 
washing  before  breakfast;  and  was  ready  for  a  quilting  or 
apple-fee  in  the  afternoon.  She  could  provide  a  dinner  for 
any  number  of  people,  and  entertain  the  company  after 
arrival.  She  was  all  this,  and  more,  besides  being  a  buxom, 
red  cheeked,  good  looking  damsel  of  twenty-three.  The  old 
people  depended  upon  her;  and  Jane,  being  used  to  her 
officiousness  and  garrulity,  appreciated  her  good  qualities, 
and  paid  respect  to  her  "flesh  and  blood,"  which  was  not 
despisable,  old  Pharaoh  Sprunt  having  been  a  "  likely,  well- 
to-do-butcher,"  and  much  thought  of  in  killing  time. 


84  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    IX. 

JANE  SELDEN  has  been  absent  for  a  few  days,  but  is 
now  on  her  way  with  little  Jeauie  Miller  to  the  farm. 
The  latter  became  quiet  after  parting  with  her  mother,  com 
forted  with  the  promise  of  making  her  a  visit  the  following 
season.  She  has  ventured  to  take  a  peep  out  of  her  little 
French  hat,  at  the  beautiful  Jiills,  and  at  the  sheep  and  cows 
the  steam-engine  has  scared  up,  and  sent  galloping  over 
hedges  and  through  pastures,  and  at  the  clear  streams, 
that  looked  to  her  like  mighty  rivers. 

As  yet,  she  has  scarcely  dared  to  look  at  Aunt  Jane,  as 
papa  has  bade  her  call  her  new  protector,  for  she  has  not 
forgotten  that  she  is  a  "prim  old  maid,"  and  Jeanie  thinks 
that  is  everything  bad  out  of  a  menagerie. 

But  the  prim  aunt  gave  her  an  apple,  with  a  smile.  She 
then  glanced  at  the  figure  beside  her.  The  little  neat  body 
in  a  black  dress  and  straw  bonnet  made  upon  her,  altogether, 
an  agreeable  impression.  She  wondered,  in  her  child-reverie, 
if,  after  all,  "prim  old  maid"  did  not  mean  something  very 
sweet  and  pretty.  The  smile  had  won  her. 

It  was  such  a  smile  as  a  child  loves  ;  for  it  was  born  of 
the  heart,  and  inspired  Jeanie  to  ask  many  childish  ques 
tions.  But  the  cars  were  noisy,  and  Aunt  Jane  had  not  a 
loud  or  strong  f  oice.  She  did  not  encourage  little  Jeanie  to 
talk,  but  drew  her  head  on  ,to  a  soft  cambric  handkerchief, 
which  she  laid  on  her  lap,  telling  her  that  her  hair  would 
look  nicer  if  it  was  cut  short. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  85 

Meanwhile,  Jane  Selden  was  trying  to  overcome  her  pre 
judice  against  the  child,  which  she  might  not  have  had,  but 
for  her  resemblance  to  her  mother.  She,  as  well  as  her 
parents,  had  suffered  much  grief  from  the  unhappy  marriage 
of  Mr.  Miller,  and  to  assume  the  guardianship  of  the  child 
of  his  wife  cost  her  much  effort. 

But  Jane  was  governed  by  a  sense  of  duty  rather  than 
feeling.  She  had  sensibility  on  some  points,  but  one  who 
knew  her  well  would  not  ask  her  what  she  preferred  to  do, 
but  what  she  thought  was  best. 

Jeanie  is  glad  to  reach  the  farm,  and  gaily  trips  over  the 
grass  and  stones,  her  big  wondering  eyes  looking  upon  all 
objects  about  her.  There  is  no  need  of  an  announcement, 
for  the  little  black  dog  is  barking  (his  daily  duty,  for  salary 
indefinite),  at  which  the  little  girl  screams,  and  is  hushed  by 
the  prim  Aunt,  who  shakes  her  forefinger  at  "  naughty,  noisy 
Mink." 

The  ploughing  in  the  fields  was  a  novel  sight  to  her,  and 
the  great  staring  oxen  another  ;  but  when  she.  looked 
through  the  woods,  down  the  hill  into  an  opening,  she  saw  a 
brook,  which  gave  her  childish  heart  a  leap  ;  for  it  was  like 
herself — a  dancing,  merry  thing.  She  felt  an  undefined 
sympathy  for  it  ;  she  wanted  to  play,  skip  with  it,  and  sing 
like  it,  for  it  made  childish,  mirthful  music — that  laughing, 
glittering,  silver,  little  brook. 

It  was  full  of  bright  stones,  that  sparkled  in  the  sun, 
which,  with  the  running  water,  fastened  the  attention  of 
little  Jeanie.  The  grass  was  green  (it  was  the  last  of  May), 
and  the  leaves  were  all  out,  fresh  as  if  just  varnished  and 
painted,  and  the  birds  were  singing,  when  the  little  girl  went 
up  the  walk  under  the  porch.  She  had  made  up  her  mind 
that  she  should  like  the  country. 

But  when  she  came  within  doojs,  led  by  Aunt  Jane,  and 
an  old  lady  took  off  her  spectacles  to  look  at  her — kissing 


86  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

her  and  calling  her,  "  little  dear,"  she  could  not  "  be  polite," 
as  mamma  had  daily  taught  her  as  the  greatest  lesson,  she 
was  so  queer  looking,  and  shook  her  head  so  ;  but  before  she 
had  done  looking  at  grandma,  Keturah  had  caught  her 
about  the  waist,  and  lifting  her  from  the  floor,  whirled  her 
around  like  a  top,  while  she  asked  her  if  she  was  the  "  city 
young  un."  This  she  bore  very  well ;  but  when  the  fat  girl  sat 
her  down,  and  then  stood  at  a  distance  from  her,  her  arms 
a-kimbo,  and  laughed  loudly,  exclaiming  at  her  short  slip  and 
ruffles,  asking  her  if  cloth  was  "skars  in  York,  "Jeanie  was 
indignant,  and  turned  away,  only  to  encounter  a  big  brown 
dog,  who  smelled  of  her,  and  coolly  settled  himself,  after 
shaking  his  shaggy  hide,  on  her  little  feet.  With  a  scream, 
that  brought  Aunt  Jane  from  her  bandboxes  and  bundles, 
the  little  girl  cried  for  help  ;  but  before  she  could  recover 
from  her  fright  the  rough  Keturah  had  mounted  her,  in  defi 
ance  of  alarm,  upon  the  back  of  old  Vulcan,  and  thus  she 
rode  to  supper — her  first  meal  in  the  brown  farm-house. 

"  Keturah,  you  must  not  tease  the  child — remember,  she 
is  tired.  Take  your  place  by  me,  Jeanie  ;  when  your  turn 
comes  you  will  be  helped.  Where  is  father  and  Cousin 
Zebedee  ?"  Aunt  Jane  sat  down  at  the  waiter. 

"  They'll  come — the  horn's  blowed — when  the  seed's  in — 
and  Mr.  Flint,  I  guess,  afore."  Keturah  seated  herself.  "  Here 
they  be,  now."  •  The  sound  of  heavy  feet  were  heard  through 
the  kitchen,  when  little  Jeanie  was  taken  by  Aunt  Jane  to 
greet  grandpa. 

A  good  old  man  was  Grandpa  Selden.  How  kind  he 
looked,  with  his  bent  shoulders,  and  pleasant  smile,  as  he 
took  Jeanie  on  his  knee,  and  smoothed  over  her  hair  with  his 
large  brown  hands.  She  was  not  his  Lucy's  child,  but  she 
tvas  Arthur's  little  sister,  and  Archibald's  little  girl  ;  and  he 
<vas  sorry  for  her,  for  he  knew  how  their  parents  were 
situated. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  87 

A  different  greeting  she  received  from  Zebedee,  who  gave 
her  a  side  look  out  of  his  grey  eyes,  and  turned  them  on 
Jane,  to  whom  he  said,  "  how'd-do,"  and  sat  down  to  supper, 
displaying  seeming  indifference  to  her  arrival,  to  any  one  not 
accustomed  to  the  mechanism  of  his  mouth. 

"  Have  you  been  well,  cousin  ?" 

"  Had  some  toothache,"  answered  the  bachelor,  filling  the 
cavern  exposed  with  a  doughnut. 

Zebedee  claimed  cousinship  to  the  Seldens,  though  it  was 
difficult  to  trace  it,  owing  to  its  distance.  Grandpa  gave 
little  Jeanie  a  chuck  under  the  chin  before  he  came  to  the 
table,  where  all  were  waiting  for  the  blessing — she,  mean 
while  staring  about  her  in  every  strange  face,  until  she  met 
a  corresponding  glance,  when  the  deep  blue  orbs  would  fall 
with  a  shy  look,  showing  more  distinctly  their  long  lashes 
and  her  delicate  profile — to  rise  again,  scanning  the  old 
people  and  the  bachelor,  extending  her  wandering  gaze 
until  it  had  faithfully  absorbed  "  General  Washington," 
"  The  Battle  of  Lexington,"  and  lastly  the  image  of  the 
noisy,  good-natured,  Keturah. 

Zebedee  was  slow  in  passing  the  waffles,  and  the  child 
was  very  hungry,  which  all  but  the  bachelor  seemed  sud 
denly  to  recollect,  when  her  plate  was  filled  to  her  satisfac 
tion  by  grandma,  who  knew  that  the  "  little  dear  had  rode 
a  good  ways." 

We  need  not  say  that  the  supper  was  a  very  still  one,  for 
it  generally  is  in  the  country,  where  children  are  brought  up 
to  be  seen  and  not  heard  at  table.  Awful  is  too  apt  to  be 
the  silence  in  the  most  social  family  on  such  an  occasion. 
And  yet  "  our  Josiah  and  Gabriel  are  so  bashful  and  sheep 
ish,  going  on  fifteen  1"  As  strange  a  fact  as  if  a  prisoner 
chained  from  infancy  to  a  block,  should,  on  liberation,  sud 
denly  walk  gracefully  and  with  self-possession. 

Little   Jeanie    had   been   too  much   amused   since  her 


88      .  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

arrival,  to  betray  emotion  ;  all  had  been  confusion  and  joy, 
but  now  every  face  was  lengthened  by  the  solemn  exercise 
of  eating  ;  and  so  fearful  was  the  sudden  change — the  awe 
of  the  occasion — by  the  time  she  had  taken  her  part  hi  it, 
she  choked  :  but  not  until  Mr.  Zebedee  Flint  looked  at  her, 
did  she  burst  in  a  child's  cry. 

Propriety  now  vanished  with  the  sympathy  that  filled  to 
bursting,  three,  at  least  of  the  kind  hearts  at  the  table,  and 
voices  were  suddenly  tuned,  as  if  by  the  sweet  harps  of 
angels,  so  softly  and  tenderly  they  addressed  the  stranger 
child. 

"  Give  the  young  one  to  me,"  cried  Keturah,  snatching 
from  the  table  her  untouched  food.  "  Your  long  faces  are 
enough  to  give  her  cramps.  Come  along,  and  we'll  have  a 
turn  on  the  Jew's  harp."  Before  an  objection  could  be 
raised,  the  lawless  Miss  Sprunt  had  carried  off  the  little  new 
comer,  affording  those  within  the  satisfaction  of  soon  hear 
ing  a  merry  laugh  from  the  child,  before  she  was  out  of 
sight. 

No  one  but  Zebedee  could  eat  after  she  left.  Jane  was 
restless,  and  showed  it  in  her  frequent  glances  towards 
the  window.  This  burst  of  tears  she  feared  augured 
trouble,  and  felt  the  responsibility  devolving  upon  her. 
While  ruminating  over  her  plans,  rather  than  enjoying  her 
meal,  like  a  streak  of  sunshine  the  little  girl  burst  into  the 
apartment,  dragging  after  her  a  young  goat,  which  Keturah 
had  tied  by  the  neck,  while  the  child  nearly  smothered  it 
in  her  wild  delight. 

It  wa>;  a  new,  but  not  unpleasant  surprise  to  the  quiet 
household,  saving  Mr.  Flint,  who  was  nervous  about  quick 
motions.  Clapping  his  hands  to  his  ears,  with  a  face  of 
woe,  he  laid  himself  back  upon  his  chair,  looking  at  Jane, 
with  an  expression  which  visibly  said  :  "Am  I  doomed  ?" 

Both  the  little  lambs,  as  grandpa  called  Jeanie  and  her 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  80 

companion,  were  coaxed  towards  him,  and  much  to  Zebe- 
dee's  relief,  soon  out  of  the  doorway,  and  over  the  meadow, 
with  salt  to  feed  the  woolly  favorite. 

Grandma  went  to  the  door  with  her  knitting,  to  look  after 
them,  her  head  shaking,  but  with  a  soft  loving  light  in  her 
hazel  eyes,  that  accorded  well  with  her  parted  silver  hair, 
"Little  dear,"  said  she,  "how  pretty  she  looks!  I  hope 
the  deacon  won't  take  her  into  the  wet  grass." 

"  She  ought  to  have  worn  her  thick  shoes  and  bonnet," 
said  Aunt  Jane,  commencing  to  wash  the  tea-cups,  with  a 
little  mop.  Jane  was  very  choice  of  her  white  fingers. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  shall  be  able  to  endure  the  noise." 
Zebedee  looked  imploringly  at  Jane.  "  Quiet  is  so  necessary 
to  my  complaints." 

"  You  are  somewhat  nervous,  perhaps,  to-night."  The 
maiden  wiped  a  tea-cup,  as  if  she  meant  to  do  her  duty  to 
that  as  well  as  her  pupil. 

"  Jane,"  taking  hold  of  one  end  of  her  towel,  with  a 
spasmodic  twitch,  "  I  believe  I  am  as  patient  as  anybody; 
and  I  don't  know  that  there  is  any  one  who  needs  fortitude 
more  ;  but  if  children  and  sheep  are  to  interfere  with  me,  no 
matter  what  my  state  is,  why,  Jane,  I  may  be  obliged  to 
quit." 

"  We  must  remember,  Zebedee,  children  are  children," 
interposed  grandma,  taking  up  a  stitch,  "  and  that  lambs 
are  new  to  the  little  dear.  I  remember  when  you  was  a 
baby,  and  how  you  liked  your  ma's  cat." 

"  I  think  you  are  mistaken,"  said  Zebedee,  tartly  ;  "  I 
never  liked  anything  small  or  young,  unless,"  looking  at 
Jane,  "it  was  grown.  A  cat  !  what  use  could  I  have  for  a 
cat  ?  Children  ought  to  be  broke  of  such  things.  I  never 
expect  to  have  another  good  night's  sleep  in  this  house." 

"  The  child  will  rest  with  me,"  said  Jane,  with  her  sweet 
est  smile,  "  and  cannot  disturb  you." 


90  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  announcement  nearly  shook  the  bachelor  from  his 
chair.  Striking  his  fist  into  one  of  his  hollow  cheeks, 
giving  an  ugly  look  to  his  mouth,  he  exclaimed  : — 

"  It  don't  signify,  it  will  wear  on  you — and  she  so  small 
and  troublesome — bringing  in  sheep  1" 

At  this  moment  Keturah  opened  the  door  of  the  room,  and 
seated  herself  with  her  full  weight  on  the  round  of  the  sofa, 
and  in  a  broad  laugh,  exclaimed  : — 

"  "Where  do  you  think  the  young  un  is  ?  As  I'm  alive, 
she's  got  Dick,  and  the  goat  has  broke  loose  and  run  up 
stairs,  and  she's  after  it ;  and  I  expect  nothing  else,  but  the 
critter  is  racing  into  Mr.  Flint's  room." 

"  Do  I  understand,"  said  Zebedee,  with  a  sudden  start  to 
his  thin  legs,  "  I  am  to  be  driven  out  of  my  own  premises, 
with  no  regard  paid  to  the  preservation  of  my  property  or 
my  health  ?  Jane,  this  is  too  much  ! — this  is  too  much  !" 

At  this,  Keturah  burst  into  another  loud  laugh,  and 
before  Jane  could  seek  the  child,  a  tumbling,  clattering 
noise  was  heard  upon  the  stairway,  as  if  an  army  of  goats 
were  on  the  descent ;  when  the  next  moment,  the  gay  little 
Jeanie  appeared  in  the  door,  dragging  her  new  pet  after  her, 
his  feet  entangled  in  a  fish-line,  bobs,  hooks,  and  a  broken 
pole  attached,  though  not  yet  arrived.  Her  face  radiant 
with  the  excitement,  she  rushed  up  to  her  new  guardian, 
giving  an  account  of  her  chase  and  the  exploits  of  the  kid. 

"But  you  must  not  bring  the  creature  hi  to  the  house 
again,  Jeanie,"  replied  Aunt  Jane,  pleasantly,  attempting  to 
disengage  the  feet  of  the  animal  from  the  line. 

"  The  small  wretch  1"  Zebedee  looked  at  the  new  comer. 

The  child's  eyes  expanded  to  their  full  size,  doubtful 
whether  the  man  meant  the  epithet  for  her  or  the  goat. 

"  I  say  it  is  a  troublesome  wretch  !"  said  Zebedee,  keeping 
his  eyes  on  Jeanie's  now  indignant  face. 

Bursting  into  a  passion  of  tears,  she  threw  herself  into  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  91 

lap  of  Jane,  and  with  one  arm  around  the  neck  of  the  ani 
mal,  sobbed  :  "  I  am  not  a  wretch,  nor  Dickey  an't  a  wretch  ; 
but  he  is — he  is,  and  I  hate  him." 

"Do  you  hear  that,  Jane  ?  do  you  hear  that  ?  the  obnox 
ious,  aggravating,  small  thing  1" 

"  Jeanie,  Jeanie,  my  child,  be  calm  ;  this  is  naughty — you 
must  not  talk  so — you  are  angry.  Come  with  me,  and  we 
will  tie  Dick  up." 

The  child  trembled  with  anger. 

"  Let  him  run,"  said  grandpa,  now  coming  in.  "  I  will 
catch  him  for  her  to-morrow.  Don't  cry,  little  girl — don't 
cry,  little  girl." 

"Here's  your  tackling,"  said  Keturah,  spitefully  to 
Zebedee.  "  I  only  wish  I'd  broke  it  in  a  hundred  pieces  1" 

"  Keturah  I"  said  Aunt  Jane,  reprovingly. 

"  'Tury,"  said  grandma,  "  that  an't  proper  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is — if  my  constitution  is  ruined,"  said  Zebedee. 

"You  must  not  go  again,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "into  Mr. 
Flint's  room.  He  is  very  particular,  and  not  well,  my  dear; 
be  careful  not  to  offend  him." 

With  the  dignity  and  grace  of  a  woman,  Jeanie  drew  up 
her  little  figure,  the  tears  still  in  her  eyes.  "  I  have  done 
nothing  to  make  him  angry.  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  his 
room,  when  I  went  for  Dickey  ;  but  I  am  sure  I  don't  want 
to  go  near  it  again,  nor  him  either,  as  long  as  I  live." 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ?  do  you  hear  that  ?"  said  Zebedee. 
"  Can't  I  speak  to  you,  Jane  ? — something  must  be  done  to 
settle  me — my  head's  beginning — I  shan't  be  fit  to  live, 
getting  so  upset." 

"  I  will  attend  to  you,  cousin,"  smoothing  the  child's  hair, 
and  wiping  her  eyes,  "  after  I  put  Jeanie  to  bed." 

"  When  she's  a-bed — when  she's  a-bed."  The  bachelor 
chuckled,  as  if  there  was  salvation  for  him  yet.  With  a 
sudden  start  he  turned  again  towards  Jane. 


92  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Some  woman's  coming."  Putting  on  his  hat,  he  pre 
tended  to  be  going,  but  finally  sat  down  in  the  porch,  and 
being  engaged  looking  at  the  oxen,  didn't  appear  to  see  the 
females  who  passed  him,  though  he  was  so  situated  as  to 
hear  their  conversation. 

That  night  he  went  to  the  singing  meeting  after  Jane, 
though  no  appointment  had  been  made. 

It  was  a  habit  he  had,  going  to  meeting  after  Jane, 
though  always  as  if  for  the  first  time,  and  as  if  he  were  not 
used  to  the  road  leading  thereto,  occupying  himself  saun 
tering  along,  in  picking  up  stones  and  throwing  them  at  the 
grasshoppers,  absent  minded,  having,  however,  the  singular 
good  fortune  to  arrive,  by  some  undefined  means  of  calcula 
tion,  at  the  moment  she  came  forth.  After  reaching  the 
outskirts,  he  gave  Jane  his  elbow,  with  a  sudden  and  sharp 
poke.  She  generally  took  it,  knowing  the  significance  of 
the  attention,  and  when  to  take  advantage  of  it,^and  under 
how  much  daylight.  She  could  not  be  blamed — his  civilities 
were  pointed. 

He  seemed  to  know  her  movements  and  engagements, 
whatever  they  were,  and  so  well  was  it  understood  in  the 
village  that  she  would  be  provided  for,  that  there  was  not  a 
bachelor  or  widower,  having  an  eye  to  the  maiden  virtues  of 
Jane  Selden,  who  would  have  presumed  to  offer  her  atten 
tion,  while  the  grey-eyed  bachelor  was  picking  up  stones  by 
the  town  pump,  or  making  astronomical  observations  by  the 
road-side. 

Feeling  somewhat  anxious  about  the  charge  she  had  left, 
Jane  Selden  sought  her  chamber,  after  her  return,  and 
finding  the  little  girl  asleep,  was  comforted,  though  some 
what  annoyed,  that  Keturah  should  have  put  her  to-bed 
without  a  night-cap.  The  glossy  ringlets  of  the  child, 
though  beautiful  and  fleecy  as  amber  clouds,  still  might  soil 
the  purity  of  the  linen  upon  which  they  lay  ;  and  the  little 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  93 

head,  heavy  with  its  slumbering  weight,  was  raised,  to  fall 
insensible,  upon  the  bosom  of  Jane.  Kissing  the  closed  lids 
and  flushed  cheek  of  the  weary  child,  she  drew  about  them  a 
cap  of  delicate  muslin,  and  left  the  infant  slumberer  in  her 
peaceful  purity,  and  went  below  stairs — to  console  Mr.  Zeb- 
edee  Flint. 

The  next  day  commenced  the  trials  of  Jane  ;  not  from  her 
dislike  of  children,  or  her  lack  of  patience,  though  her  life  till 
the  age  of  three  and  thirty,  had  been  free  from  the  slightest 
care  or  confusion.  She  was  as  systematic  as  a  piece  of 
exquisite  machinery,  and  as  sensitive  in  all  matters  disturb 
ing  her  private  arrangements.  Yet  so  rigid  were  her 
principles,  that  she  held  it  a  matter  of  duty,  to  be  governed 
by  them  at  any  sacrifice.  Her  trials  had  their  origin  in  the 
excitable  temperament,  and  the  totally  neglected  education 
of  her  new  protegee. 

While  petted,  amused,  and  caressed,  the  child  was 
contented  at  home,  with  the  studies  and  pursuits  chosen  for 
her,  until  she  found  her  way  into  the  woods,  when  no  farm 
limits,  or  environs  could  confine  her  within  them;  and  before 
the  expiration  of  six  weeks,  neither  rabbit  nor  squirrel  had 
made  freer  explorations  into  all  paths,  and  coverts,  than 
the  now  wild  untutored  Jeanie.  Her  will  and  determination 
at  first  mastered  all  about  her  ;  while  she  pursued  her  own 
course  in  defiance  of  restraint. 

Her  volatile  disposition  did  not  trouble  Jane  so  much, 
as  her  disregard  of  motives  in  her  conduct.  In  her  educa 
tion,  she  endeavored  to  set  before  her  a  standard  of  right 
for  her  imitation,  which  she  enforced  by  illustrations  from 
Scripture  ;  and  was  disappointed  that  she  could  not  at  once 
accomplish  her  purpose  ;  while  the  faults  of  her  pupil,  were 
constantly  presented  to  her  in  an  exaggerated  light  by  the 
querulous  bachelor.  She  saw  that  the  sensibilities  of 
Jeanie  were  acute  ;  and  that  feeling  mastered  her  nature, 


94  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

which  caused  her  often  to  repress  her  own  tenderness,  to 
check  its  ungoverned  flow  in  the  child.  It  was  her 
great  aim,  in  the  formation  of  her  character,  to  subdue  her 
controlling  passions — bringing  them  under  the  guidance  of 
reason  and  fixed  principle  ;  and  to  lead  her  to  look  for 
direction  from  a  Heavenly  teacher. 


THROUGH    THEWOOD.  95 


CHAPTER    X. 

LITTLE  JEANIE  had  now  reached  the  age  of  eight 
years  ;  yet  her  preceptor  sighed  over  her  wayward 
ness,  who  in  the  meantime  had,  notwithstanding,  gained  the 
love  of  all  hearts  around  her,  excepting  that  of  her  tormen 
tor  and  evil  genius. 

With  the  old  couple  she  was  an  idol ;  ruling  them  with 
her  "  pretty  wilfulness  ;"  and  with  Keturah/was  the  inspirer 
of  fun  and  merriment. 

To  throw  aside  her  gay  dresses,  had  been  to  the  little 
girl  a  great  trial,  and  to  keep  in  order  and  precise  arrange 
ment,  those  furnished  her,  was  not  a  less  one ;  to  effect 
which  she  had  often  lost  a  meal,  and  been  deprived  of  many 
a  wood-stroll — a  conflict  begun  in  tears  and  passion  though 
ending  in  submission  and  penitence.  Jeanie's  troubles  were 
the  harder  to  bear  from  the  taunts  and  ridicule  of  Zebedee, 
who  invariably  remembered  her  offences  and  their  punish 
ment. 

The  passion  for  dress  and  dancing,  seemed  inherent  hi 
her  nature.  She  sang  too,  as  gleefully  as  a  bird,  and  with 
as  little  cultivation,  her  love  for  music  being  intense  and 
natural.  Although  conquered  by  the  decision  of  her  precep 
tor,  in  the  change  of  her  attire,  an  accidental  sight  of  a 
fanciful  dress  sent  her  by  her  mother,  revived  her  love  of 
display. 

Locked  in  her  room,  she  arrayed  herself  in  the  flounced 
blue  silk,  carefully  adjusting  the  lace  frills  about  her  arms, 


96  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

on  which  she  clasped  her  cast-aside  ornaments.  After 
dressing  her  feet  conformably,  she  threw  over  her  head  a 
mantle  of  lace,  and  tripped  down  the  back  stairs,  and  fleet 
as  a  fairy,  into  the  kitchen,  to  first  exhibit  herself  secretly 
to  Keturah,  whom  she  cautioned  by  a  "hush  !"  and  then 
out  of  doors,  to  scud  into  the  hay-field  among  the  men,  by 
whom  she  was  greeted  with  a  shout. 

She  could  not  as  usual  tumble  in  the  hay,  so  she 
concluded  to  proceed  to  the  village,  though  warned  not  to 
take  the  walk  without  permission  or  company. 

She  was  a  general  -pet  with  her  playmates,  and  ever  felt 
confident  of  approval  among  them.  The  compunctious  of 
conscience  which  had  troubled  her  while  on  the  farm,  now 
fled,  knowing  she  should  be  an  object  of  admiration  and 
wonder.  She  regretted  that  her  aunt  had  cut  off  all  her 
beautiful  curls. 

Jeanie  was  received  on  the  piazza  of  a  rude  dwelling  by 
a  gay  milliner,  who  felt  much  complimented  and  delighted 
with  the  child's  condescension  in  visiting  her,  "  so  divinely 
dressed." 

Her  skill  in  dancing  was  already  known,  she  having 
taken  every  favorable  occasion  to  exhibit  it  ;  her  little  feet 
touching  with  sparrow  lightness  the  turf  or  floor  on  which 
she  trod,  singing  her  own  accompaniment,  while  she  amused 
the  untaught  villagers  with  her  fashionable  steps,  and  airs. 

But  never  until  to-day,  had  she  been  in  full  feather  for 
the  display.  That  she  was  a  runaway,  from  the  sober 
family  of  Deacon  Selden,  many  that  saw  her,  suspected  ; 
but  none  could  help  viewing  with  admiration  the  fascinating 
child.  Thoughtless  of  all  but  a  love  of  mischief,  she 
attracted  around  her  a  circle  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her,  as  she  went  up  the  steps  of  the  shop,  known  as  that 
of  Mrs.  Higgins,  the  milliner  of  Meadow  Brook. 

The  crowd  at  first  composed  only  her  playmates  ;  ther 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  97 

| 

such  as  were  passing,  until  unconsciously  little  Jeanie  was 
dancing  and  singing  before  a  gathering  of  people,  the  half 
of  whom  were  peeping  at  her  through  the  windows  and 
doors  of  the  rooms,  considered  public  to  the  village. 

She  forgot  all  else  in  the  enjoyment,  not  knowing,  in  her 
thoughtless  mood,  she  was  in  a  situation  humbling  to 
herself,  and  her  friends.  Her  look  was  upon  the  floor,  she 
regarding  not  the  universal  stare  upon  her,  seeing  nothing 
but  the  glittering  halo  which  envelops  a  child's  fancy,  her 
eyes  moistened  by  the  pearly  drops  oozing  from  the  font  of 
a  child's  pure  heart,  her  fairy  feet  springing  lightly  as  a 
bird  from  bough  to  bough,  on  the  wind  of  breezy  motion. 
Thus  she  kept  time  to  her  own  sweet  warblings. 

In  the  meantime,  a  gentleman  was  peering  among  the 
crowd  for  a  man  he  there  sought.  Indifferently  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  object  of  attention.  The  vision  enchained  him  as 
he  watched  it  silently. 

Little  Jeanie  looked  up  to  meet  the  gaze  of  the  children 
who  had  begged  her  to  dance  for  them,  when  instead,  she 
saw  that  of  a  motley  collection,  and  among  the  rest  the 
fixed  look  of  a  pah-  of  eyes,  not  admiringly,  but  reprovingly 
upon  her.  Their  earnest  expression,  their  large,  mournful 
beauty,  set  beneath  arches  of  heavy  black,  in  a  face  strongly 
marked,  impressed  even  the  child  Jeanie.  The  gentleman 
might  have  been  eight  and  twenty.  He  was  a  traveller,  and 
stopping  at  the  village  inn. 

As  she  ceased  dancing,  a  shout  arose  from  the  boys  ;  while 
clapping  their  hands,  they  cried  :  "  Don't  stop — go  on,  go 
on." 

Frightened  to  find  herself  so  situated,  alarmed  and 
reproved  by  the  look  of  the  stranger,  sudden  consciousness 
overwhelmed  her.  With  a  deep  blush,  she  felt  that  she  was 
doing  wrong.  Covering  her  eyes,  she  burst  into  tears,  then 
darting  through  the  crowd,  caught  up  her  mantle,  and  throw- 

5 


98  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

ing  it  over  her  head,  attempted  to  go  through  the  doorway, 
saying,  "  No,  no — I  must  go  home." 

But  in  vain  she  attempted  egress,  while  "  dance  for  us 
more — dance  for  us  more,"  was  the  only  reply  to  her  eager 
entreaties  to  be  released. 

"  Stand  aside,"  said  the  gentleman,  quietly,  but  decidedly, 
"  and  let  the  little  girl  pass."  The  tone  was  one  of  com 
mand,  yet  courteous.  The  rude  villagers  looked  upon  the 
speaker,  and  parted  on  each  side,  when  with  the  gentleman, 
she  walked  out.  Not  daring  to  look  up,  Jeanie  felt  that  he 
was  beside  her. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  latter,  walking  across  the  village 
green,  "  are  you  a  little  actress,  or  a  runaway  ?" 

"  I  am  so  sorry  I  came."  Tears  streamed  from  the  eyes 
of  Jeanie. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  I  only  wanted  to  see  the  little  Higgins,  and  there  were 
so  many  people  !  Oh,  I  am  afraid  to  go  home.  What 
shall  I  do  ?"  With  hasty  steps  the  child  flew  rather  than 
walked  into  a  narrow  secluded  path  that  led  out  of  the  vil 
lage,  still  crying.  Looking  up  suddenly,  she  said  :  "Are 
you  going  with  me,  to  tell  Aunt  Jane  ?  because — because — 
if  you  do  " — 

"  What  if  I  do  ?" 

"  Only  don't  tell  Mr.  Flint — he  will  tease  me  so." 

"  Then  you  -don't  think  you  ought  to  feel  badly  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes — I  don't  want  to  go  home."  Jeanie  and 
her  companion  had  now  reached  a  quiet,  grassy  lane.  See 
ing  a  log,  she  sat  upon  it — covering  her  eyes,  still  saying, 
"  Oh,  I  can't  go  home." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  said  the  young  man,  viewing  her 
distressed  little  face,  while  he  took  her  hand. 

"  Jeanie  Miller.     My  papa  has  gone  to  Europe." 

"  And  your  mother  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  99 

"  She  didn't  go  away  with  papa." 

The  fingers  were  dropped.  "I  thought  I  had  seen  your 
eyes  before.  Can  you  find  your  way  home,  or  shall  I  go 
with  you  ?" 

"  I  hare  done  so  wrong." 

"  It  is  half  the  battle,  my  little  girl,  to  feel  this  ;  go  and 
tell  your  friends  so.  Have  you  not  courage  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  had  my  old  dress  on.  I  did  not  think  I  could 
hate  this  so." 

He  felt  that  he  had  seen  the  child  of  Elinor  Castleman. 

With  earnestness  he  met  the  glittering  eyes.  "  My  little 
girl,  I  know  your  papa.  He  would  have  been  grieved  to 
have  seen  yon,  as  I  have  to-day.  Yon  had  better  go  home, 
and  take  the  consequences  of  your  folly.  I  must  bid  you 
good-bye  here.  I  am  going  away  hi  the  stage  this  even 
ing." 

"  And  will  you  see  my  papa  again  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so." 

Jeanie's  tears  fell  afresh.  The  gentleman  knew  her  fears 
and  pressing  the  little  hand,  said,  "  Don't  think  that  I  shall 
tell  any  tales  of  you." 

"Only  if  you  do,  tell  him  I  am  sorry." 

The  gentleman  smiled,  and  answering  affirmatively,  parted 
with  her.  Afterwards  looking  back,  he  saw  her  slowly 
walking  onwards,  stopping  to  cry,  but  still  going  on. 

Jeanie  had  not  proceeded  far  before  she  heard  a  quick, 
shuffling  step  behind  her,  when  by  her  side  appeared  the 
bachelor,  who  had  been  to  the  village  as  usual,  after  the 
arrival  of  the  mail,  for  a  "  business  opening." 

"  Hurrah  !  Jiminy  I"  he  cried,  as  he  reached  her,  "  I'll  be 
snooped  if  this  ain't  Miss  Jinny  Miller,  that  I've  heerd  of 
down  to  the  village.  Come,  Miss  Lady-bug,  how  did  the  per 
formance  go  off  ?  If  I  ain't  disgraced  to  be  seen  with  you  ! 
Won't,  you  catch  it  !  I  was  just  going  to  tell  of  you,  but 


100  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

it's  better  that  I've  caught  you  slying  along  home.  Who 
was  that  man  you  was  cackling  to  ?  I'll  tell  of  you — I'll 
tell  of  you.  So  you  had  better  hurry  up,  and  make  up  no 
lies." 

Jeanie's  penitence  was  now  overwhelmed  in  anger.  With 
a  face  scarlet  with  passion,  she  clutched  from  the  ground,  a 
root  of  pig-weed,  and  flung  it  with  force  into  the  face  of 
Zebedee.  "  Take  that  ;  I  don't  care  what  you  say  of  me. 
I  mean  to  tell  the  truth  myself,  and  I  don't  care  if  I  have 
put  your  eyes  out,  you  meddling,  blind  old  buzzard." 

The  act  and  speech  performed,  Jeanie  took  to  her  fleet 
footsteps  for  safety,  knowing  that  the  bachelor's  care  of  his 
joints  and  their  tight  casings,  would  prevent  his  overtaking 
her.  It  was  now  late,  and  she  knew  that  supper  would  be 
ready  on  her  arrival ;  and  the  family  waiting  for  her. 

But  instead  of  anger  and  reproaches,  she  met  what  was 
more  grievous.  Aunt  Jane  was  in  tears  ;  and  grandpa 
and  grandma  looked  sadly,  but  not  angrily  at  her. 

The  little  quivering  lips  could  not  utter  the  child's  speeches 
she  had  framed,  but  like  a  condemned  culprit  she  stood  at 
the  door  weeping,  old  Vulcan  licking  her  hands,  and  little 
Mink  barking — for  she  had  come  over  the  door-mat. 

"Take  your  seat  at  the  table."  Jane  wiped  her  eyes, 
looking  at  Jeanie. 

"  Yon  must  be  tired,"  said  grandma,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  her  head  shaking  worse. 

"  Land  alive  !  let  her  take  off  her  frock,"  said  Keturah. 

"  No  ;  I  prefer  that  she  keeps  it  on  until  bedtime.  Sit 
down." 

"  Julius  Caesar  I  do  let  her  unrig  before  Mr.  Flint  comes, 
he's  so  aggravating." 

"  I  can't  eat,"  said  Jeanie,  "  please  let  me  go  up  stairs." 

"  Set  down  to  the  table  " — and  Jeanie  sat  down  ;  and  was 
there,  in  her  blue  dress  and  flounces,  full  of  burs  and 


THROUGH    T  n  r:   WOOD.  101 

thistles,  when  the  bachelor  arrived,  bringing,  in  his  hand,  a 
root  of  pigweed.  He  came  in,  shaking  it,  scattering  the 
dirt  from  the  root. 

That  Zebedee  should  so  offend  good  taste,  and  the  nice 
propriety  of  the  family,  disturbed  the  equanimity  of  Jane  ; 
but  he  made  no  explanation.  At  last,  putting  down  the 
clump,  he  stood,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  at 
Jeanie,  and  at  her  festooned  dress — looking  her  through 
with  his  snapping  eyes,  as  if  there  was  no  feeling,  no  sensi 
bility,  to  be  shocked  in  so  "  small  a  thing." 

Feeling  the  glance  of  ire,  the  derisive  smile  that  succeeded 
it,  as  the  grey  eyes  lowered  upon  her  soil-stained  stockings, 
seeing  the  red  eyelids  of  her  kind  preceptor,  and  the  grave 
looks  of  the  old  people,  not  knowing  what  was  to  follow — 
how  could  she  eat  ?  and  yet  how  much  they  offered  her  ; 
how  grandpa  heaped  her  plate,  and  how  attentive  was  the 
mad  Keturah,  who  would  have  saved  her  every  emotion  of 
shame. 

Yet  she  did  not  cry ;  she  might  have  done  so,  but  Zebe 
dee  was  staring  still. 

The  long  meal,  so  agonizing  to  Jeanie,  was  at  last  con 
cluded  ;  yet  there  was  no  release  for  her  ;  she  must  sit  up  to 
prayers,  while  no  word  was  said  respecting  her  afternoon's 
performance,  or  of  the  estimation  in  which  it  was  held. 

As  yet,  they  had  only  heard  of  her  elopement  in  her  fan 
ciful  dress.  The  rest  was  to  be  told  by  either  herself  or  Zeb 
edee.  Agonized,  lest  the  statement  should  first  come  to  her 
aunt  from  the  lips  of  the  latter,  as  soon  as  the  solemn 
"  Amen  "  had  been  pronounced,  Jeanie  began  :  "I  must  tell 
you,  Aunt  Jane,  I  must  tell  you  before  Mr.  Zebedee  does." 

"  Mind  you  tell,  then,"  said  Zebedee,  coming  forward,  very 
red,  shaking  the  pigweed,  "  you  small  thing,  that  you  flung 
this  unhealthy  root  in  my  face,  and  called  me  a  beetle."  The 
twist  of  his  large  mouth  was  awful. 


102  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  reproachful  eyes  and  silent  lips  of  Aunt  Jane  nearly 
burst  the  heart  of  the  child  ;  but  Zebedee's  looks  and  actions 
only  enraged  her.  She  might  have  replied,  but  looking 
through  the  doorway,  she  saw  Keturah  making  mouths  at 
the  old  bachelor,  which  threw  over  the  affair,  for  the 
moment,  a  shade  of  the  burlesque,  softening  her  anger. 

"  Is  it.  true,"  said  Jane  Selden,  removing  the  child  from 
her,  "  that  Jeanie  has  still  further  disgraced  herself,  by 
insulting  one  so  much  older,  and  in  her  auger  lost  all  con 
trol  of  her  temper."  * 

"  You  havn't  heard,  then,"  put  in  Zebedee,  "  that  she  has 
been  jigging  it  in  all  the  beer  shops  in  the  village,  besides 
coming  out  with  a  feller  I  found  along  side  of  her.  She  was 
skairt  that  I  saw  her  and  meant  to  tell  of  her,  and  that's 
why  she  sent  this  unwholesome  herb  at  me  ;  she  called  me 
an  insect — a  blind  one  ;  she  flew  at  me  like  a  mad  bee — she 
buzzed  at  me." 

"  I  did  not,  Aunt  Jane." 

"  Didn't  I  hear" — the  speaker  protruded  his  eye-balls  and 
opened  his  mouth  like  an  alligator — "  that  the  little  actress 
would  perform  agin  next  week  ?" 

"  And  I  will  dance,"  replied  Jeanie,  in  a  rage,  "  if  you  do 
not  let  me  alone,  whatever  I  do  I" 

"  And  you  will  fling  poke  weed  in  my  face — will  you,  pid- 
wigeon  ?" 

"  If  you  insult  me,"  said  Jeanie,  putting  down  her  little 
foot. 

"  Shall  I  tell  them  down  to  the  beer  shop  that  you  are 
coming  ?"  asked  Zebedee. 

"No!"  cried  the  mad  child,  "but  I  know  who  will  be 
there." 

It  was  a  favorite  resort  of  Mr.  Flint's. 

"  Jeanie,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  I  havr  permitted  you  to  talk, 
to  see  the  spirit  you  evince  in  this  matter.  I  am  convinced 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  103 

that  you  are  unconscious  of  your  fault,  and  impenitent  for 
all  the  sorrow  your  disobedience  and  bad  conduct  have 
brought  upon  us  all.  Go  to  my  room. 

"  Aunt  Jane,  I  know  that  I  have  done  wrong,  but  don't 
believe  all  he  says." 

"  Hush,  Jeanie  !  I  will  not  permit  you  to  talk  so — go  to 
your  room  !" 

"  Can't  I  help  her  undress,  Miss  Jane  ?"  said  Keturah, 
coming  in,  as  Jeanie  went  up  stairs. 

"  No  !" 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go,"  said  grandma. 

"  I  prefer  that  she  goes  alone,"  said  Aunt  Jane.  "Cousin, 
I  observe  that  your  eye  is  quite  black.  You  had  better 
bathe  it  with  some  arnica  drops.  Is  it  painful  ?  the  child 
must  have  been  in  a  passion.  I  wish  that  you  and  she 
could  agree  better." 

"  It  all  happened  as  I  was  seeing  her  home.  Why,  Jane, 
she  darted  at  me  like  a  small  pickerel !  I'm  afraid  I  am 
pizened  for  life.  Hadn't  I  better  go  to  bed  right  after 
supper  ?  It  always  does  me  good.  I  don't  know  how  I  can 
face  the  village  people  after  such  disgrace,  letting  alone  the 
pokeweed." 

Jane  sighed,  and  finished  putting  a  black  patch  on  Mr. 
Flint's  eye,  and  went  to  Jeanie. 

She  found  the  child,  still  in  her  fanciful  dress,  sobbing. 
She  uttered  no  word  when  her  preceptress  spoke  to  her,  but 
cried  more  bitterly. 

"  Why  do  you  grieve,  Jeanie  ?"  said  Jane. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  wish  I  was  dead." 

'•  You  are  fit  company  for  no  one,  in  this  wicked  state. 
Must  I  feel  that  all  my  pains  to  make  you  a  good  girl  have 
been  unavailing,  and  that  you  are  to  grow  up  passionate 
and  revengeful,  with  no  regard  to  propriety  in  your  con 
duct  ?» 


104  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"I  only  wanted  to  show  my  dress,  and  to  dance  for  the 
girls." 

"  But  you  went  away  slily,  and  disobediently ;  and  then 
made  yourself  a  public  spectacle — and  was  this  all,  Jeanie  ?" 

"  No — but  I  hate  Mr.  Flint.  I  do,  Aunt  Jane — he  told 
me  not  to  make  up  lies." 

"  He  does  not  understand  your  disposition  ;  but  this  does 
not  lessen  your  fault.  An  apology  from  yon  is  due  him,  for 
your  conduct ;  but  you  must  be  sincerely  sorry  first.  Now, 
I  wish  to  know  the  state  of  your  mind  about  your  offences. 
Are  you  truly  penitent,  or  are  these  tears  only  those  of 
passion  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry,  and  angry  too." 

"  Sorry  for  what  ?" 

"  Sorry  «that  I  have  made  you  all  ashamed  of  me  ;  but  I 
did  not  know  how  bad  it  was  until  I  met  a  gentleman  at 
Mrs.  Higgins's.  I  never  want  to  see  him  again.  It  seemed 
to  me  all  the  world  was  in  the  room,  when  he  made  them  let 
me  go.  Aunt  Jane,  you  do  not  know  how  badly  I  feel.  I 
ought  not  to  stay  with  you  any  longer,  yet  I  know  not  where 
to  go.  I  am  not  fit  to  live  with  any  body,  though  I  suppose 
I  should  die  in  the  streets,  alone  ;  but  Mr.  Zebedee  would  be 
glad." 

The  plaintive,  humbled  tone  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
the  tender  hearted  Jane.  She  allowed  the  little  clinging  arms 
to  rest  about  her  neck,  and  the  throbbing  heart  of  the  penitent 
child  to  lie  against  her  own.  By  gentle  and  clear  reasoning 
she  endeavored  strongly  to  present  to  Jeanie's  mind,  the 
necessity  of  self-control,  and  such  cultivation  of  high-toned 
principle  as  should  form  a  basis  for  her  character,  under  all 
temptations,  fortifying  her  nature,  as  a  house  built  upon  a 
rock.  With  illustrations  adapted  to  the  child's  comprehen 
sion,  she  elevated  her  mind,  contrasting  the  beauty  of  the  well- 
balanced  character,  like  a  well  tuned  instrument,  breathing 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  105 

harmony,  with  that  ruled  by  the  most  generous,  noble 
impulses,  yet  unstable  as  water,  and  made  discordant  by 
every  opposing  breath  of  human  passion.  She  convinced 
the  little  girl  that  she  was  not  too  young  to  attempt  the  con 
flict — that  in  her  own  strength  she  could  not  prevail,  but 
in  His  who  would  give  her  grace  to  conquer. 

"  Your  desire,  you  say,"  she  continued,  "  was  to  exhibit 
your  beautiful  dress  ;  but  are  you  sure  it  was  this  ?  Ask 
your  conscience,  Jeanie,  if  the  motive  which  influenced  you 
to  do  wrdhg,  was  riot  more  sinful  ?  Was  it  not  the  vanity 
of  showing  your  own  person  in  it,  and  displaying  an  accom 
plishment  which  is  in  the  power  of  the  most  uncultivated 
to  attain  ;  and  in  which  you  are  excelled  by  many  children 
brought  up  in  ignorance  and  degradation  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  wish  that  gentleman  had  not  seen  me.  Can  I 
ever  learn  not  to  like  to  be  beautifully  dressed  ?" 

"  There  is  no  harm,  my  dear  child,"  said  her  gentle 
preceptor,  "  in  liking  to  be  well  dressed  ;  if  there  was,  the 
flowers  would  not  have  been  made  so  gay  ;  but  if  their 
exquisite  petals  covered  poison  and  impurity,  we  should  shun 
them.  God  has  given  us  something  to  adorn,  more  precious 
than  our  persons — a  soul  to  be  decked  with  heavenly  graces 
requiring  more  care  and  culture  than  the  most  beautiful 
perishable  body.  Do  you  not  feel  a  stronger  desire  for  this 
heavenly  robe,  fitting  you  for  the  presence  of  God,  than  the 
jewels  and  silks  that  could  make  you  dazzling  as  a  prin 
cess  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  never  think,  and  be  so  good  as  this." 

"But  you  will  promise  to  ask  yourself  one  question  in  all 
your  actions — all  in  which  you  doubt  your  friend's  approval 
— '  am  I  doing  right  ?'  not  '  would  it  please "  me  best  ?' 
Will  you  try,  and  will  you  pray  for  God's  help  ?" 

"  I  will,"  said  the  child  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  And  now,  Jeanie,  what  do  you  say  about  controlling 
5* 


106  THE. TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

your  temper  ?  If  Mr.  Flint  tries  i+  so  sorely,  it  is  perhaps 
the  discipline  you  need.  Were  you  not  wrong  in  being  so 
angry  with  him  to-day  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  should  do  it  again  ;  he  was  so  hateful." 

"But  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  wicked.  Is 
this  the  spirit  of  the  meek  and  lowly  Jesus  ?" 

"But  I  am  not  meek.  I  could  have  killed  him  when  he 
told  me  not  to  tell  you  lies." 

"  My  love,  with  all  your  faults  you  were  ever  truthful — 
yes,  truthful  as  your  dear  brother,  and  you  were  injured  in 
this  remark  ;  but  would  it  not  have  been  better  for  you  to 
have  remained  silent  and  respectful  ?  I  shall  require  you  to 
apologize  to  Mr.  Flint." 

"  I  cannot  tell  him  I  am  sorry.  I  would  not  have  him 
know  for  the  world  that  I  regret  it." 

"  You  may  not  be  able  to  improve  Mr.  Flint,  but  with 
pains,  you  can  yourself ;  and  remember  that  it  is  wrong  to 
speak  harshly  to  any  one  ;  and  that  '  a  soft  answer  turneth 
away  wrath.' " 

On  this  point  Jeanie  was  obdurate  ;  but  so  softened  and 
penitent  regarding  her  fault,  that  she  readily  received 
forgiveness,  and  went  ±o  sleep  comforted  by  the  kiss  of 
reconciliation. 

Cheerful,  yet  pensive,  the  child  came  to  her  breakfast  the 
following  morning.  After  her  usual  greeting  from  the  old 
people,  she  received  the  salutation  of  the  bachelor. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Hop-o'-my-thumb.  Own  up  you 
have  made  a  fool  of  yourself,  and  gave  me  a  black  eye." 

"  If  I  did,  that  was  more  than  you  could  do  ;  you  were 
saved  the  trouble." 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ?"  turning  to  the  old  people. 
"  Then  the  village  are  to  have  no  more  private  the 
atricals  ?" 

Jane  entered  the  breakfast-room  :  she  saw  the  cloud  on 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  101 

Jeanie's  face,  which  she  had  left  so  bright,  and  looked 
inquiringly. 

"  Oh,  aunt,  I  don't  like  to  be  made  fun  of."  She  could 
utter  no  more,  but  burst  into  tears." 

"  What  would  Arthur  have  you  say,  this  morning  ?" 

"  That  I  did  wrong  ;  and  I  did.  Now  you  know  Mr. 
Zebedee  Flint,  my  opinion  of  my  '  private  theatricals  ;'  and 
I  hope  that  this  is  the  last  that  I  shall  hear  of  them 
from  you." 

"  Jeanie,  have  you  nothing  further?" 

"  Yes  ;  that  I  hope  he  will  treat  me  like  a  gentleman,  and 
I  will  never  trouble  him  more  with  pigweed." 

This  was  the  best  apology  that  could  be  elicited  from 
Jeanie. 


108  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XI. 

DURING  Jeanie's  stay  at  the  farm,  she  had  seen  little 
of  her  mother  ;  her  visits  having  been  postponed 
from  time  to  time,  by  the  latter,  who,  after  her  husband's 
departure,  was  if  possible  more  gay.  In  these  brief  visits, 
Mrs.  Miller  saw  the  increasing  loveliness  of  her  daughter, 
and  with  the  winning  powers  she  possessed,  attached  to  her 
her  artless  loving  child.  She  bewailed  in  her  presence  her 
country  education,  leaving  for  the  time  on  the  mind  of 
Jeanie,  a  desire  to  be  for  ever  with  her,  where  she  could  feast 
on  so  much  love,  light  and  beauty. 

But  the  pleasure  was  ever  a  brief  one,  and  after  multitu 
dinous  kisses,  the  reception  of  choice  dresses,  which  she 
was  never  permitted  to  wear,  the  acquisition  of  the  last 
waltz  and  fashionable  dance,  the  little  girl  was  sent  back 
to  one,  she  pronounced  "  a  good  sort  of  governess,"  which 
approbation  was  evinced  to  the  latter,  by  the  presentation 
of  some  trifling  gift.  Jeanie  never  met  her  grandmother. 
She  spirited  about  somewhere  in  the  region  of  her  child, 
though  was  not  often  visible,  as  she  had  fallen  into  her  old 
habits  of  haunting  the  dwellings  of  her  relatives.  She  had 
buried  sister  Sally,  and  was  much  occupied  in  the  examina 
tion  of  her  relics.  She  went  about,  gleaning  wherever  the 
harvest  promised  best,  changing  little  excepting  in  her 
increased  vigilance  in  the  care  of  her  treasures.  Not  a 
day  passed  that  she  did  not  write  to  some  one,  bewailing 
her  destitute  condition  ;  and  so  plausible  was  her  tale,  that 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  109 

her  appeals  were  not  always  in  vain.  Of  those  near  by, 
she  petitioned  only  for  food  and  lodging. 

Jeanie  ever  parted  from  her  mother  in  tears  and  with 
fond  regret — grief  lightened  by  the  prospect  of  pleasures 
in  store  for  her. 

She  could  not  be  away  when  grandpa  gathered  his  nuts 
and  apples  in  the  fall  ;  and  when  winter  came,  she  antici 
pated  many  a  sleigh-ride  over  the  snow-clad  hills.  Even 
Keturah  with  her  brawny  hands,  could  not  crack  butter 
nuts  at  evening  faster,  or  better,  than  the  merry  little 
warbler,  who  sang  like  a  cricket — chirping  on  the  hearth. 
But  better  than  all,  Jeanie  enjoyed  a  sly  joke  upon  Zebedee, 
whose  attachment  to  Jane  grew  more  evident,  although  no 
one  could  see  that  it  was  reciprocated. 

It  might  have  been  that  Jeanie  made  sometimes  an 
odious  third  in  the  party  to  the  singing  meeting,  and  in  her 
mischievous  frolics,  that  she  mimicked  the  bachelor  ;  and 
though  reproved,  would  not  always  desist  from  a  waltz  in 
his  presence,  even  cpaxing  him,  as  her  spirits  rose  higher,  to 
join  her.  It  might  be,  that  these  were  her  sins  ;  but  true  it 
was,  even  as  she  grew  out  of  her  "  smallness,"  she  grew  no 
more  in  favor  with  Mr.  Zebedee  Flint. 

The  latter  became  deeper  in  love,  an  attachment  evinced 
by  sharper  and  more  frequent  use  of  his  elbow  ;  by  sly 
nods,  and  grunts,  all  unfortunately  as  well  understood  by 
Jeanie  and  Keturah,  as  by  her  for  whom  they  were  inten 
ded — many  of  them  as  especial  invitations  to  go  down  to 
the  brook  while  he  fished. 

If  Jane  Selden  had  a  weakness,  it  was  in  her  total  self- 
abnegation,  where  the  wishes  and  feelings  of  all  others 
were  concerned.  She  knew,  that  as  grandma  said,  Zebedee 
was  "lost"  without  her,  and  therefore  often  accompanied 
him  on  his  piscatory  excursions.  In  matters  of  love,  she 
was  not  keen-sighted,  and  though  never  repulsing  the 


110  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

bachelor's  attentions,  Jane  could  not  be  called  coquettish. 
It  was  a  remarkable  courtship,  this  of  Zebedee  and  Jane  ; 
and  a  matter  of  great  doubt  whether  it  would  ever  reach  a 
crisis. 

One  day  she  seemed  unusually  obtuse  regarding  her 
admirer's  movements  or  signs,  which  Jeanie  observed ; 
inspiring  her  by  the  promptings  of  Keturah,  to  a  piece  of 
folly,  perhaps  reprehensible,  and  which  might  have  resulted 
seriously  to  Mr.  Flint,  or  to  his  clothes. 

Before  the  maiden  had  received  the  guttural  signal, 
(signifying  fish  and  Jane)  Jeanie  put  on  the  sun-bonnet 
and  shawl  of  the  latter  ;  and  with  knitting-bag  in  hand, 
passed  the  bachelor,  going  toward  the  brook.  She  imitated 
her  aunt's  slow  pace,  and  after  arriving  at  the  log  (the 
accustomed  seat)  sat  down — commencing  to  knit. 

Zebedee  felt  that  Jane  was  going  by,  and  cast  his  eager 
eyes  that  way.  He  could  not  mistake  that  shawl  and 
bonnet.  He  would  know  them  in  the  meeting-house — on  a 
church  steeple,  and  how  could  he  mistake  them  on  Jane  ? 
There  was  nothing  that  looked  more  like  the  little  spinster, 
than  her  starched  white  sun-bonnet. 

Nobody  knew  how  much  he  loved  Jane  ;  so  he  thought, 
and  he  had  never  been  encouraged  as  now.  She  must  have 
known  that  he  was  going  to  fish.  He  could  hardly  dig  his 
worms. 

He  was  glad  that  he  was  not  obliged  to  go  into  the 
house  to  look  her  up,  exposing  his  anxiety  to  Keturah  and 
Jeanie  ;  so  with  pole  and  line  he  started  for  the  stream, 
thinking  how  much  easier  it  was  to  bait  fish  than  women. 
He  took  a  new  path,  that  he  might  come  plumb  alongside 
of  her,  surprising  her.  So  he  walked  on  the  grass,  still  and 
sly — with  his  pole  and  worm-pail,  and  after  some  panting 
sat  down  by — the  bonnet  and  shawl !  How  Jane  knit  ! 
She  was  foolish  to  be  so  diffident  at  her  age  ]  He  had 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  Ill 

never  told  her  how  h'e  loved  her — he  never  could,  but  now 
there  was  no  one  by. 

With  a  shaking  of  his  angular  joints,  perspiration 
starting  at  every  pore,  a  rattling  of  his  guttural  tones,  he 
clasped  the  waist  of  the  little  figure  beside  him,  and 
gasped:  "Jane!  Jane!  what's  the  use  of  living  this 
way  ?" 

The  wild  little  Jeanie  did  not  scream  or  faint,  but  with 
one  energetic  struggle,  a  child's  strong  push  (she  was  now 
twelve),  sent  down  the  bank  the  terrified  Zebedee. 

Sprawling  he  lay  in  the  knee-deep  flood.  His  balloon 
coat  tails,  and  blue  slim  legs  were  on  the  ascendant,  but 
not  without  vigorous  dashing  eiforts  was  he  wholly  up. 
Opening  his  tearful  eyes,  he  resolved  to  see  what  had 
happened  to  him.  Returning  consciousness  showed  him 
that  on  the  grass  lay  the  inimitable  shawl  and  bonnet — and 
in  the  distance  flying  through  the  woods,  was  the  "  disgrace 
ful  child  Jeanie." 

He  was  wet — decidedly  so — he  might  catch  cold  ! 
Jeanie  had  run  into  the  house,  to  prepare  Keturah  for  the 
plaster  which  she  knew  would  be  needed. 

It  was  of  no  use  talking  to  her.  She  upset  the  waffle- 
batter  in  her  convulsions  of  laughter,  and  awoke  grandpa 
from  his  afternoon  nap,  besides  scaring  Mink  off  from  the 
door-mat.  And  what  ailed  Keturah  all  tea-time,  nobody 
could  tell — who  kept  her  hand  over  her  mouth,  running  out 
with  snorts  and  choking.  Grandma  thought  she  must  have 
the  tooth-ache,  but  Jeanie  knew  better. 

Poor,  frightened  Jeanie  !  She  had  anticipated  no  such 
denouement,  but  was  rightly  served.  She  had  expected  a 
poke  in  her  side,  nothing  more,  and  kept  discreetly  quiet ; 
but  the  squeeze,  that  made  her  feel  like  a  kitten  in  a  grist 
mill,  demanded  summary  resistance. 

The  shawl  and  bonnet  were  that  night  found  in  their 


112  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

proper  places  ;  but  when  Zebedee  went  up  to  bed,  knitting 
needles  were  seen  protruding  from  his  pocket. 

Jeanie  had  no  toast  for  tea  until  the  advertisements  were 
all  read  by  Mr.  Flint,  in  the  village  paper  ;  and  might, 
through  the  negligence  of  the  latter,  have  missed  the 
luxury,  altogether,  but  for  Aunt  Jane,  who  began  to 
compassionate  her  situation.  Strange  as  it  might  seem, 
Mr.  Flint  did  not  report  the  culpable  proceeding  ;  neither 
did  he  complain  of  wet  or  cold. 

But  the  trouble  was  not  all  over.  On  going  to  her  room, 
Jane  found  upon  the  floor,  her  knitting  work,  with  the 
needles  out,  the  stitches  down,  and  the  yarn  in  tangled 
confusion  !  When  had  such  a  circumstance  before  tran 
spired  ?  No  one  in  the  household  plead  guilty.  The 
mischief  was  laid  to  the  cat. 

When,  oh  !  Grimalkin,  will  thy  hour  of  justice  come  ? 
When  wilt  thou,  in  wrathful  indignation,  with  back 
elevated,  eyes  radiating  green  and  ghastly  fire,  demand 
vengeance  for  the  wrongs  daily  perpetrated  upon  thy  feline 
race  ?  When  was  ever  the  cupboard  found  bare  of  a 
mackerel  bone,  or  the  bird-cage  robbed  of  the  pet  canary — 
or  from  the  well-filled  milk-pans,  a  lap  the  less  of  its  creamy 
sweets — a  ball  of  thread  or  skein  of  worsted,  in  a  snarl — a 
sly  hole  made  in  a  spinster's  bed  ;  but  thou,  or  one  of  thy 
suspected  race,  wert  the  doomed  offender  ?  When  perhaps 
at  the  very  time  of  the  committal  of  each  imputed  crime, 
thou  wert  tending  a  rising  family  in  thy  mistress's  hat  crown  ! 

Without  trial  by  judge  or  jury-  -without  the  benefit  of 
sympathy  or  council,  if  not  lynched  or  sacked,  thy  character 
has  been  assailed,  until  defamation  was  ruin  :  while  perhaps 
in  indignation,  thy  fur  was  rising,  thy  claws  stretching,  with 
the  vile  calumny  1 

Yes,  Jane — spotless  example  of  thy  sex,  even  thou  could 
thus  traduce  a  helpless  innocent  cat  1 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  113 


CHAPTEE    XII. 

DURING  Jeanie's  sojourn  with  her  country  friends,  she 
had  but  once  met  her  father,  he  having  returned  to 
see  his  children,  when  he  again  went  abroad,  where  he  was 
occupied  with  manufacturing  interests.  During  the  interim, 
Mrs.  Miller  lived  in  New  Orleans.  The  rumor  of  their  sep 
aration  was  now  confirmed.  The  deserted  wife  needed  all 
her  pride  to  screen  her  sense  of  mortification,  knowing  that 
two-sided  as  is  the  world,  there  were  few  who  would  honestly 
condemn  her  simple-hearted,  honorable  husband,  though  she 
believed,  and  not  without  truth,  that  she  would  not  lack 
private  vindicators  among  the  opposite  sex. 

In  defiance,  she  generously  exhibited  her  hospitality,  and 
drew  at  her  salons  the  brilliant  and  distinguished.  But,  like 
Lady  Blessington,  she  mostly  discarded  the  society  of  women, 
preferring  those  who  could  "  admire  without  envy,  and 
praise  without  censure."  How  well  they  fulfilled  her  expW- 
tations  !  how  noble,  charitable,  and  forgiving  they  were  1 

What  angels  the  men  ! 

They  came  offering  incense,  scattering  flowers  in  her  path. 
Her  cornucopia  is  rich  with  fruits — she  is  too  generous  to 
tell  of  their  cost,  and  the  donor  is  gay  and  beautiful. 

Mrs.  Miller  had  also  advisers  ;  one  most  influential,  was 
Mr.  Launcelot  Lawrence,  who  considered  her  "  a  victim 
of  malice  and  barbarity  " — whose  "  wrongs  ought  to  be 
redressed  by  a  bill  of  divorcement." 

This  proclamation  Mr.  Lawrence  made  publicly  and  p£i- 


114  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

vatcly.  Mr.  Launcelot  was  a  valiant  man,  and  liked  valor 
to  a  valiant  degree,  venturing  to  speak  lightly  of  the  con 
tinued  existence  of  any  individual  who  professed  not  zeal  in 
Mrs.  Miller's  cause — he  being  glad  himself  to  invest  the  bulk 
of  his  fortune  in  prosecuting  her  suit,  which  bulk  being  no 
where  visible,  excepting  in  the  plantation  of  brush  about  his 
mouth,  was  likely  to  prove  unavailable. 

Mrs.  Miller  did  not  encourage  this  conversation  in  Mr. 
Lawrence,  she  having  some  sense  as  well  as  vanity. 

Mr.  Launcelot  Lawrence  was  a  man  who  made  himself,  as 
lie  affirmed,  "  indispensable  to  the  sex,"  was  ever  "  at  their 
service  " — was  Quixotic,  a  man  of  honor,  which  he  was  will 
ing  to  evince  at  all  hazards  (not  being  opposed),  by  espous 
ing  the  cause  of  the  "  basely  perjured  "  Mrs.  Miller.  He 
only  wished  he  could  meet  the-"  absconding  villain,"  that  he 
might  "  fill  his  place  with  a  man  of  reputation."  To  this 
chivalrous  proclamation,  Mrs.  Miller  smiled  radiantly,  swal 
lowing  her  disgust.  It  was  such  admirers  that  mortified  the 
proud  woman.  Yet  there  was  no  one  who  could  exactly 
occupy  the  post  of  this  man  in  her  service.  Mr.  Lawrence 
was  a  gossip,  and  showed  diligence  in  acquiring  information. 
Through  him  she  learned  the  movements  of  her  husband  ; 
and  that  Hugh  Shelbourne  was  dead  ;  also,  that  Mr.  Miller 
had  returned  home  with  increased  wealth,  and  received 
honors  in  the  gift  of  the  government,  such  as  she  would  have 
enjoyed  as  his  companion,  and  which  he  possibly  would  not 
have  declined,  had  she  been  able  to  fill  the  post  as  "  his 
lady  "  abroad. 

This  information  Mr.  Lawrence  communicated  as  he 
would  give  a  child  sugar-plums  ;  and  so  well  pleased  was  he 
with  the  magnitude  of  his  budget,  as  to  be  indifferent  to  its 
quality.  On  quantity  he  prided  himself,  and  delivered  the 
commodity,  as  would  he  read  on-dits,  collectively. 

Thus  he  bought  the  privilege  of  a  seat  in  her  pleasure-boat, 


1  H  R  0  U  G  H      THE      W  0  0  D  .  115 

resting  on  his  oars.  And  a  gorgeous  barge  it  was  ;  a  fitting 
craft  for  its  fair  queen,  and  filled  from  stem  to  stern,  though 
all  were  not  "  Cupid  boys  "  who  fanned  her.  She  had  her 
favorites,  yet  to  none  yielded  her  heart.  This  was  a  "  sen 
timental  weakness,"  of  which  she  was  not  guilty,  though  she 
forgave  it  in  her  courtiers,  provided  they  paid  her — what  her 
pride,  if  not  her  principles,  demanded — respect. 

Elinor  Miller  had  celebrity  ;  she  had  bought  it,  such  as  it 
was,  at  a  price  all  too  dear,  and  now  she  meant  to  queen  it. 
But  her  subjects  ;  she  disdained  them,  and  in  her  heart  (for 
she  had  one,  if  crusted  over),  called  them  unprofitable. 

There  was  one  who  personated  her  ideal,  but  he  kept 
coldly  distant.  He  piqued,  annoyed,  and  at  tunes  angered 
her,  provoking  the  question,  why  he  visited  her  rooms,  if  not 
to  enjoy  her  society  ?  To  him  she  seemed  a  cypher  ;  indeed 
he  was  indifferent  to*all  women  (for  there  were  some  in  her 
train),  and  sought  the  men.  He  was  to  her  glorious  to  look 
upon,  with  his  eye  of  fire,  and  form  of  power.  Mind  was 
written  on  his  face,  and  though  from  his  lips  came  cold  and 
passionless  words,  yet  she  believed  they  might  be  the  chan 
nel  of  eloquence.  He  seemed  more  stern  than  sad,  but  there 
were  times  when  she  caught  a  look  that  seemed  to  tell  of 
conquered  wretchedness,  evident  in  his  tones,  which  grew 
rigid,  as  she  looked  her  sympathy. 

But  that  this  man  was  impenetrable,  and  in  his  whole 
mien  different  from  the  boy  she  once  had  flirted  with,  shuffled 
aside  for  a  trump,  winning  her  the  stakes  for  which  she 
played,  he  might  occasionally  have  reminded  her  of  one  now 
dead.  Why  did  she  care  to  know  him  ?  Why  did  he  both 
fascinate  and  annoy  her  ? — this  Philip  Hamlin  ?  But  for  his 
distinguished  bearing,  she  would  have  excluded  him  for  his 
indifference.  Yet  he  was  introduced  by  a  friend  she  valued. 

Mr.  Hamlin  was  fond  of  chess.  He  played,  she  said, 
eternally.  He  irritated  her  by  his  devotion  to  his  game. 


llfi  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Her  presence,  which  magnetized  all  others,  which  had  ruined 
the  success  of  many  an  older  player,  had  upon  this  guest  no 
effect.  He  ever  won  ;  and  if  he  smiled  when  she  applauded, 
it  was  archly  upon  his  opponent. 

But  once  had  she  seemed  to  awaken  interest  in  aught  she 
did  or  said.  After  a  fruitless  effort  at  conversation  with 
him,  she  endeavored  to  call  his  attention  to  her  collection  of 
paintings.  On  the  art  she  talked  with  an  appreciation  and 
knowledge  of  her  subject. 

Mr.  Hamlin  consented  to  make  the  survey,  and  he  was 
faithful  to  the  object,  apparently  heedless  of  his  guide.  Mrs. 
Miller  was  persevering.  She  asked  him  if  he  would  like  to 
see  a  portrait  of  her  child.  He  assented  eagerly. 

"  It  is  lovely."  He  viewed  it  narrowly  near  by,  and  at  a 
distance.  "  But  for  the  ringlets  and  the  rose-tinted  clouds, 
I  should  believe  it  the  picture  of  a  little  girl,  I  left  crying 
on  a  log  in  the  country,  dressed  like  an  infant  actress.  Her 
hair  was  short,  but  she  was  more  beautiful." 

Mrs.  Miller  was  not  pleased  with  the  comparison.  The 
pictures  were  all  examined,  when  Mr.  Hamlin  bowed,  and 
parted  with  his  hostess.  He  never  stayed  to  supper,  or 
accepted  wine.  Rumor  said  he  was  a  man  of  fortune,  that 
he  had  relations  in  the  city,  and  a  younger  brother,  the 
child  of  his  mother's  second  marriage.  But  so  uncommuni 
cative  was  Mr.  Hamlin,  it  was  strange  that  so  much  had 
been  discovered  of  his  history. 

Mrs.  Miller  inquired  of  Mr.  Lawrence  about  him,  who 
said  he  was  "  a  poor  emigrant  and  a  sawney." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  117 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

LITTLE  JEAN  IE  is  clapping  her  hands  with  artless 
joy — laying  down  the  precious  letter,  that  brings  to 
her,  tidings  of  her  father's  retnrn. 

Her  last  visit  had  been  made  to  her  mother,  in  New  York, 
not  presented  as  an  object  of  pride  to  the  friends  of  her  fash 
ionable  parent,  for  simply,  unconsciously,  the  child  had 
betrayed  her  country  breeding. 

Shorn  of  her  radiant  curls,  not  one  of  which  was  left  to 
grace  her  lily  throat,  the  little  girl  with  her  cropped  hair, 
was  received  ;  while  with  disgust  her  mother  took  from  her 
person  the  homely  apparel  which  had  been  substituted  for 
her  exquisite  attire. 

With  eager  solicitude,  the  ambitious  woman  had  listened 
to  the  tones  of  her  voice,  fancying  in  each  syllable,  musically 
dropped,  that  she  heard  the  "  odious,  nasal  twang,"  which 
she  accredited  to  her  protectors,  and  in  each  turn  of  her 
flexible,  graceful  figure,  that  she  shadowed  forth  the  "  prim 
old  maid." 

Alone  with  Jeanie,  she  delighted  her  as  formerly,  with  her 
mirthful,  affectionate  playfulness,  and  in  such  brief  moments 
she  exhibited  her  undisguised  love  for  her  child.  Yet  pride 
forbade  her  from  -showing  so  rustic  a  resemblance  to  herself, 
retaining  her  long  enough  to  fascinate  the  little  being,  who 
yearned  for  closer  and  more  intimate  communion  with  one 
whom  she  had  ever  idolized. 

Without  examination  of  "Jeanie's  accquirements,  or  the 


118  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

faintest  .scrutiny  of  her  inner  life — without  a  glance  at  the 
development  of  a  mind,  just  bursting  its  germ,  as  a  bud 
reveals  its  sweetness,  modestly,  timidly — without  one  emotion 
of  gratitude  towards  her  who  had  kept  it  pure  and  uncon- 
taminated,  she  condemned  her  education.  She  looked  upon 
the  little  wild  flower  deploringly,  deprecatingly,  perceiving  not 
that  the  gentle  courtesy  of  manner,  which  sometimes  startled 
her  with  its  natural  sweetness,  had  its  origin  in  an  unselfish 
regard  for  the  feelings  of  others — consideration  which  had 
been  sedulously  taught  her,  neither  realizing  that  the  cultiva 
tion  of  her  moral  nature  had  imparted  to  her  bearing,  the 
refining  influence  which  the  world's  varnish,  without  it,  can 
never  supply. 

Jane  Selden,  with  her  humble,  pretensionless  manners, 
could  have  taught  etiquette  to  the  worldly  woman  of 
fashion,  though  policy  formed  not  the  basis  of  her  code. 

It  was  a  joyful  scream,  and  a  light,  elastic  bound — that  of 
Jeanie's,  as  she  threw  her  arms  around  her  aunt's  neck, 
trembling  with  delight,  while  she  pointed  out  the  window, 
exclaiming,  "He  is  coming  !  Dear  papa  is  coming  !" 

Jane  disengaged  herself  composedly,  putting  aside  the 
exercises  which  she  had  been  correcting  for  her  pupil — her 
eyes  glancing  from  the  glad  child  towards  the  gate,  and  from 
the  form  there  revealed,  to  rest  on  a  small  mirror  which 
reflected  her  slightly  ruffled  plaits  of  brown.  Smoothing 
them  with  her  delicate  fingers,  she  said,  a  little  flurried  : 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  my  dear." 

"  Oh  I  let  me  go  down  !  I  have  learned  all  my  lessons." 

"  But  not  in  such  a  flutter,  Jeanie.     Be  composed,  first." 

"  But  I  am  so  impatient."  The  little  girl  held  both  her 
hands  over  her  face,  covering  her  eyes,  through  which  tears 
were  starting. 

"  No  matter,  my  love,  what  the  occasion  may  be,  never  be 
hasty,  or  untidy.  This  delay  would  not  have  been  required 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  119 

if  you  had  been  more  neatly  dressed.  Go  and  make  your 
self  fit  to  meet  your  papa." 

Jane  Selden  then  commenced  her  own  toilet  arrange 
ments,  still  looking  out  of  the  window,  seeing  nothing  but 
Zebedee  going  down  to  the  brook,  who  stopped  first  at  the 
water-spout  to  drink  (a  habit  he  had  when  agitated),  indi 
cating  that  he  was  sheering  off  to  avoid  the  new  comer. 

"  I  wish  he  would  be  more  civil,"  thought  Jane,  as  her 
excellent  brother-in-law  stepped  on  to  the  porch,  arousing 
both  the  lion-headed  rapper,  and  Mink,  its  echo. 

The  greeting  below  stairs  had  evidently  taken  place,  by 
the  noise  that  grandpa  made  (a  way  of  his),  hemming  and 
hawing,  when  excited  or  pleased,  and  the  private  directions 
grandma  was  giving  Keturah,  down  the  stair-way  (being 
deaf),  in  a  loud  voice,  about  the  killing  of  chickens  (a  sac 
rifice  paid  to  distinguished  guests  at  the  farm),  and  lastly, 
by  the  calls  for  Jane,  in  the  hall,  by  the  old  man,  who  was 
growing  impatient. 

With  her  white  apron  nicely  fixed,  and  the  short  hair 
brushed  apart,  as  if  by  the  counting  of  each  silken  fibre; 
then  off  the  blue-veined  temples,  in  waves,  wet  and  glossy, 
leaving  hi  unshadowed  purity  the  child  brow,  Jeanie,  in 
breathless  joy,  was  at  last  permitted  to  bound  over  the 
stair-way,  and  like  a  fluttering  bird,  to  its  home. 

Amidst  the  demonstrative  joy  of  the  old  people — the 
rattling  of  Zebedee  on  the  porch,  with  his  fish-pole  and 
worm-pail,  and  the  bawling  of  Keturah  (who  was  watching 
the  dying  flutter  of  a  headless  victim)  to  Bill  Stone  to  catch 
another  hen,  the  glad  child  nestled  in  her  father's  out 
stretched  arms. 

With  glistening  eyes,  Mr.  Miller  observed  her  improved 
appearance. 

Jane  was  slow  in  coming.  She  had  to  replait  her  some 
what  thin  hair,  to  put  on  her  black  silk  apron,  and  snowy 


120  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

collar  and  wristbands,  as  if  she  could  make  herself  more 
like  a  pea-blossom,  in  purity  ;  but  a  damp  wind  had  been 
blowing,  and  might  have  somewhat  unstarched  her  white 
petals. 

Affectionate  was  the  meeting  on  the  part  of  the  kind 
brother-in-law,  to  Sister  Jane,  who  looked  so  little,  nice,  and 
unassuming  beside  her  dignified  relative,  actually  blushing 
when  he  kissed  her.  It  was  a  ceremony  always  enacted 
since  Lucy's  day,  on  his  part,  but  Jane  was  never  prepared 
for  it.  It  may  be  that  every  one  expected,  at  one  time, 
that  Mr.  Miller  would  marry  Jane,  and  that  she,  even,  had 
surmised  it. 

Zebedee  had  come  in,  as  far  as  the  door,  at  the  time  of 
the  meeting,  but  suddenly  made  as  rapid  strides  for  the 
porch.  Jeanie  went  out  at  the  moment,  and  found  his 
body  at  a  right  angle,  and  his  mouth  beside  a  couple 
of  bull-heads. 

Zebedee  hated  strangers'  at  any  time  ;  and  was  never 
known  to  be  civil  to  one.  Indeed  he  would  not  have  cared 
if  there  had  been  no  other  in  the  world,  but  himself  and 
Jane.  But  there  was,  and  he  knew  that  some  politeness 
was  expected  from  him  on  this  occasion.  When  he  felt 
there  was  a  safe  opening,  he  made  another  attempt  to 
overcome  his  awkwardness.  Putting  his  earlocks  over  his 
bald  crown,  giving  a  hitch  to  his  blues,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  he  finally  showed  himself  at  the  door,  with  his 
hat  on.  This  last  article  of  apparel,  he  felt  as  a  screen  to 
his  face,  and  it  might  be  to  his  character — for  he  gave  it  a 
stronger  pull  over  his  beetle-brows,, when  he  wished  to  be 
secure  from  observation  ;  and  to  hide  his  attachment  to 
Jane,  whom  he  always  slighted  on  public  occasions. 

After  giving  a  nod  and  a  grunt  to  Mr.  Miller,  who  came 
forward  to  shake  hands  with  him,  he  showed  himself,  it 
would  seem,  for  no  other  purpose  than  that  of  flourishing  in 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  121 

Jane's  face  his  snuffy  coat  tails — when  the  latter  moved 
quietly,  wiping  with  her  spotless  cambric,  the  corner -of  her 
eye.  Jane  was  used  to  Zebedee. 

Jeanie  sat  in  her  father's  lap,  answering  his  many 
questions  until  tea-time. 

That  the  coming  meal  was  in  a  state  of  lively  progression, 
Keturah  testified,  by  her  bustKng  in  and  out,  her  rattling 
of  the  dishes,  and  frequent  nudges  to  Jane  to  come  into  the 
kitchen  ;  which  free-masonry  signs  all  comported  with  her 
easy  manners.  How  Mr.  Zebedee  Flint  wished  somebody 
would  call  him. 

The  rooster  that  had  lustily  crowed  that  morning,  in 
view  of  the  rising  young  colony,  who  to  him  would  bow 
obeisance,  was  now  on  the  gridiron  ;  and  by  his  side,  two 
of  his  luscious  favorites,  who  had  met  their  inevitable  fate 
at  the  hands  of  Keturah,  while  meditating  an  exultant 
cackle  over  an  achievement  of  an  egg.  The  fowls  done 
brown,  hot  and  cold  bread,  sausages  and  smoked  beef,  apple 
sauce,  dried  peaches,  waffles  and  cheese,  not  forgetting  ham 
and  eggs,  being  orderly  arranged,  dinner  and  supper  were 
ready. 

Mr.  Miller  frolicked  with  Jeanie  on  .one  end  of  the  family- 
sofa,  Jane  sat  under  the  wing  of  the  other  reading  the 
evening  paper  to  grandpa,  while  grandma  tapped  her  snuff 
box,  and  partook  of  its  contents  with  unusual  satisfaction. 
Zebedee  was  still  growing  to  his  chair,  and  wishing  himself 
out  of  his  ceremonious  agony,  and  down  to  the  brook. 
The  call  was  made  for  supper.  Their  visitor  was  acquainted 
with  the  liberality,  as  well  as  the  precision,  of  the  domestic 
arrangements  of  the  farm  ;  and  had  eaten  too  many  good 
meals  with  the  old  folks,  to  marvel  at  any  of  their  early 
tea  preparations.  The  usual  silence  of  the  repast  was 
broken  in  upon  by  the  new  arrival — the  ever  welcome  guest 

6 


122  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

who  now  partook  of  its  bounty,  having  a  magnetic  power 
over  all  hearts  in  the  home  where  he  had  wedded  in  his 
youth,  a  daughter  and  sister  so  beloved  ;  and  to  which  he 
had  brought  in  whole  soul  confidence,  the  child  of  his  second 
unhappy  marriage. 

He  discussed  the  crops,  church,  and  politics  with 
grandpa  ;  and  to  the  old  lady  talked  over  the  neighbors 
and  the  dear  boy  Arthur  ;  addressing  Jane  in  a  tone 
gentle  and  kind,  as  her  sweet  serenity  seemed  to  crave. 
Little  Jeanie,  the  lark,  was  where  she  would  ever  be; 
tucked  under  the  wing  of  the  parent,  bird.  Eespect  and 
veneration  mingled  powerfully  in  Jane  Selden's  regard  for 
her  brother-in-law,  and  so  timid  and  reserved  was  her 
manner  in  the  exhibition  of  her  warmest  friendships,  that 
had  she,  as  was  once  thought  possible,  been  his  choice,  it  is 
doubtful  whether,  loving  him,  that  she  would  have  ever 
given  the  widower  sufficient  encouragement  to  have 
addressed  her.  Though  kind  and  affable,  a  shadow  was 
not  more  unapproachable  than  the  maiden  Jane.  And  yet 
Zebedee  pursued  her  with  fidelity,  and  with  a  dog-in-the- 
manger  jealousy,  not  offering  himself,  nor  meaning  that 
another  should  ;  and  he  believed  if  there  was  anybody  that 
would  keep,  it  was  Jane.  And  while  fascinated  with 
Elinor  Castleman,  it  was  not  strange  that  Mr.  Miller  never 
knew  how  pure  and  holy  a  flame,  he  had  by  his  devoted 
kindness,  enkindled  in  the  breast  of  the  humble  shrinking 
girl.  He  supposed,  like  every  one  else,  that  she  was 
somehow  identified  with  the  odd  bachelor,  who  had  never 
loved  any  mortal  but  herself.  Mr.  Miller  however  found  it 
hard  to  credit  the  report,  having  nothing  upon  which  to 
found  it,  excepting  the  entire  coolness  with  which  she 
received  his  attentions,  and  her  kind  manner,  exhibited 
alike  in  her  willingness  to  confer  upon  him  the  fa.vor  of  her 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  123 

society,  the  use  of  her  needle  in  his  service,  or  the  untiring 
exercise  of  her  patience  in  listening  to  his  endless  bodily 
complaints. 

It  was  a  rumor  that  had  ever  excited  the  derision  of 
Keturah,  who  considered  "  Miss  Jane  no  match  for  Mr. 
Flint " — she  being  in  her  estimation,  "  no  more  to  spark 
than  a  streak  of  moonshine." 

After  tea,  Jeanie  was  summoned  to  her  father's  room.  It 
was  worth  the  prettiest,  to  see  the  child's  face  as  her 
treasures  were  displayed.  Like  the  smell  of  sweet  clover, 
came  over  her  the  fresh  odor  of  the  enamelled  page. 
With  intense  delight  she  viewed  each  exquisite  picture,  and 
the  clear  brilliant  type,  that  is  alike  beautiful  to  the  young 
and  old. 

"  Now  for  Aunt  Jane's  present."     Jane  fluttered  a  little,  " 
but  went  on  with  her  knitting,  but  was  forced  to  look  up, 
when  by  the  little  girl,  on  her  lap,  was  laid  the  costly  gift, 
and  to  murmur  her  indistinct  thanks. 

"  And  what  for  the  rest  ?"  cried  Jeanie,  delighted  with 
the  pleasure  imparted  to  others. 

The  presents  for  the  old  couple  were  produced,  and  lastly, 
a  dressing-caseJpr  Arthur. 

"Now  mamma's  P 

"  Let  me  see  your  books." 

"  When  I  see  her  present,"  the  child  replied,  playfully. 

"  Mamma  is  where  she  can  buy  everything  beautiful,"  said 
Mr.  Miller,  hurriedly. 

"  But  they  will  not  be  from  you."    Jeanie  spoke  earnestly. 

The  father  stood  alone  in  the  porch.  Jeanie  bounded 
towards  him,  and  slid  her  hand  into  his.  The  queries  and 
remarks  of  the  child  had  pained  him,  though  his  conduct 
towards  her  mother  had  been  based  on  firm  integrity,  and 
was  the  result  of  rigid  mental  discipline,  from  which  exercise 
of  his  mind  he  had  excluded  feeling.  He  anticipated  in  the 


124  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

future  greater  embarrassment  in  Jeanie's  questions/ and 
determined,  young  as  she  was,  that  she  should  know  the  sit 
uation  of  her  parents. 

One  of  his  marked  characteristics  was  a  keen  sense  of 
justice.  On  her  scale  he  weighed  his  conclusions,  from 
which  he  could  not  be  turned  by  his  tenderest  emotions. 
Honest  himself,  he  believed  others  so,  until  proved  guilty  ; 
but  his  confidence  once  shaken  in  man  or  woman,  it  was 
rarely  restored. 

It  was  like  the  plucking  out  of  an  eye  when  he  separated 
from  one  whom  he  had  loved  so  fondly  ;  declaring  to  the 
world  that  he  deemed  her  not  fit  for  the  guardianship  of  the 
tender  years  of  his  child,  and  no  longer  a  wife  whom  he 
.honored  and  loved. 

Too  late,  the  fair  pleader  came  to  his  feet.  He  had 
resolved,  and  deemed  the  separation  just.  Self-respect,  and 
his  child's  future  character  and  welfare  requiring  the  decisive 
step. 

And  now,  when  his  little  girl  uttered  with  her  sweet  voice 
an  unconscious,  loving  petition  for  her  mother,  he  was  still 
firm,  saying  nothing  by  look  or  word  that  should  deceive 
her,  and  after  she  heard  the  sad  revelation,  lead  her  to  think 
of  it,  marvelling. 

"  May  I  walk  with  you  ?"  said  Jeanie,  as  her  father  turned 
unconsciously  towards  a  bridge  that  lay  over  the  stream  near 
by. 

"  How  you  have  grown,"  was  the  reply,  taking  Jeanie's 
hand. 

"  Yes,  I  am  almost  as  tall  as  mamma." 

"  Do  you  love  the  country,  and  are  you  quite  happy  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  was  until  you  came,  but  now  I  want  to  go 
back  arid  live  with  you  and  her.  I  cannot  sleep  for  think 
ing  of  it  lately.  I  have  tried  to  be  patient,  but  sometimes 
I  am  not." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  125 

"  You  haTe  a»kind  mother  in  your  Aunt  Jane,  Jeanie." 
-    "  Yes  ;  but  I  cannot  forget  how  dear  mamma  used  to  look 
at  me  with  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  hold  me  so  close  to  her, 
while  she  told  me  that  some  day  I  should  be  always  with 
her." 

"  Supposing  she  were  to  die,  and  you  could  never  hope  to 
see  her  ?" 

"  I  do  not  like  to  think  of  this  ;  promise  me  that  you  will 
take  me  to  her  now.  She  must  be  so  lonely  without  us." 

"  Can  you  not  bear  disappointment  ?" 

"  I  have  borne  a  great  many,  and  I  can  more,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Then  you  believe  that  it  is  best  for  us  that  we  should 
have  trials  ?" 

"  So  Aunt  Jane  says." 

"Is  it  hard  for  you  to  exercise  self-denial,  Jeanie  ?" 

"Am  I  not  self-denying  when  I  do  not  rebel  at  your 
wishes,  staying  so  long  away  from  you  all?  I  don't  think 
that  I  was  born  as  good  as  some.  I  cannot  give  up  what  I 
like  and  love  so  easily." 

"  Supposing  the  world,  Jeanie,  was  left  without  laws  for 
its  government,  do  you  not  think  ihat  wickedness  would 
overrun  the  land,  and  no  innocent  person  be  safe  ?  We 
must  therefore,  to  contend  with  life's  temptations  and  dis 
appointments,  put  restraints  or  laws  likewise  upon  our  hearts. 
You  have  commenced  this  discipline,  by  endeavoring  to  bear 
disappointment,  and  now  I  wish  to  prepare  your  mind  for 
trial  such  as  you  have  never  known." 

Mr.  Miller  and  Jeanie  had  reached  a  wild  path  by  the 
running  stream,  over  which  was  a  rude  bridge  of  logs  ;  a 
pleasant  evening  resort,  being  overshadowed  by  willows  and 
made  fragrant  by  the  perfume  of  the  sweet-brier  and  alder. 
A  protruding  part  of  the  bridge  furnished  them  a  seat,  in 
view  of  the  rivulet.  Drawing  the  little  Jeanie  to  his  knee, 


126  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

the  father  watched  the  effect  of  his  announcement  upon 
her. 

The  sun's  last  beams  fell  across  her  short,  waring  hair, 
making  more  dazzling  the  purity  of  her  innocent  face,  as 
she  looked  up  pitifully. 

For  some  moments  neither  spoke.  "  Papa,  what  is  it  I 
must  give  up  ?" 

"  Give  up  !"  said  Mr.  Miller,  in  half  soliloquy.  "  This  is 
indeed  a  trial  for  those  in  older  years.  To  give  up  those  we 
love,  to  live  without  all  the  heart  craves — but,  my  child,  I 
am  too  earnest  for  you  ;  you  cannot  struggle  too  much  in 
.  this  heart-warfare.  You  must  learn  how  to  give  up.  It 
pains  me  to  sadden  you,  my  little  girl,  but  there  is  one  afflict 
ing  truth  that  you  must  soon  know,  and  that  you  may  not 
be  deceived,  I  must  impart  it." 

Jeanie  drew  nearer  to  her  father,  her  eyes  expanding  till 
the  dark  pupils  covered  them,  leaving  but  a  rim  of  blue. 
The  red  of  her  lips  was  fainter,  and  her  cheek  more  transpar 
ent.  Burying  her  head  on  his  breast,  she  said  : 

"  I  will  try  to  bear  it." 

Smoothing,  still  smoothing  the  polished  brow,  his  fingers 
in  and  out  of  the  soft  hair,  his  arm  clasping  the  little  one  he 
was  about  to  pain,  tne  father,  in  low  tones,  spoke  to  his 
darling. 

"  You  yearn  for  your  childhood's  home.  You  sigh  for  a 
fond  mother's  care  and  protection.  Had  you  no  father,  my 
little  girl,  no  mother,  perhaps  you  would  be  as  well  off,  for 
God  is  the  God  of  the  orphan,  as  He  will  be  your  Comforter, 
if  you  seek  Him.  For,  Jeanie,  your  parents  are  for  ever 
separated  on  earth.  I  shall  not,  as  you  suppose,  seek  your 
mother  ;  there  is  no  love,  as  you  think,  between  us  ;  we 
have  parted,  no  more  to  live  together." 

It  was  sad  to  the  affectionate  parent,  to  see  the  little 
white  brow  grow  paler,  the  perspiration  to  bead  it,  as  water- 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  127 

drops  on  a  lily  ;  to  feel  the  little  hands  he  held  grow  cold, 
and  faintness  to  steal  over  the  drooping  body  that  he  held 
in  his  arms. 

Alarmed,  Mr.  Miller  carried  the  child  down  to  the  stream, 
and  laved  her  face. 

"  Oh  God  I"  he  murmured,  "  take  her  as  she  now  is,  be 
fore  a  shadow  of  the  world's  taint  has  stained  her  soul  ;  in 
the  blood  of  Christ  wash  her  clean  from  original  sin,  or  pre 
pare  her  for  the  trials  and  temptations  before  her." 

Jeanie  unclosed  her  eyes,  but  with  a  sigh. 

"  Did  you  say  that  I  must  not  love  my  mother  ?  that  we 
must  live  always  apart,  and  have  no  home  together  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  my^dear  child,  I  cannot  have  a  better  tune  to 
tell  you  than  now,  what  you  must  know."  Mr.  Miller  fal 
tered  ;  he  was  never  fluent  in  speech,  and  when  agitated, 
often  failed  in  utterance.  The  dimmed  eyes  were  opened 
upon  his.  Jeanie  promised  to  be  calm.  "  Your  mother  and 
father  lived  unhappily  together.  Deception  was  the  cause 
of  our  misery.  This  is  all  that  I  can  tell  you  now.  To  the 
rest  I  would  have  you  ever  close  your  ears." 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more,  no,  no."     The  child  now 
wept  frantically,  sobbing  at  intervals,  "  Why  don't  you  love 
mamma  ?    Why  don't  you  love  dear,  beautiful  mamma  ?" 
•  "  Hush  !  hush  1  my  child." 

"  Did  not  she  do  right  ?" 

"  God  is  the  best  judge  of  our  actions.  You  must  decide 
when  you  grow  older  with  whom  you  will  choose  to  live'. 
If  you  prefer  your  mother's  home  in  three  years,  I  will  give 
you  to  her.  It  will  be  but  a  short  separation." 

"  You  hold  my  waist  too  tight,  papa." 

Eelaxing  his  clasp,  Mr.  Miller  continued,  "  Your  own 
character  must  be  your  study.  I  trust  that  in  you  I  shall 
never  be  disappointed.  You  will  be  fourteen  next  winter, 
when  I  intend  that  you  shall  go  to  New  Orleans.  There 


128  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

you  will  see  much  gaiety,  and  will  be  in  a  sphere  to  judge 
whether  it  will  solely  constitute  your  happiness — whether 
you  will  choose  to  live  with  me  or  with  your  mother." 

"  With  both — with  both,"  came  in  smothered  accents. 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  determine  now,  my  child,  but  it  is 
right  that  you  should  know  that  on  your  decision  rests  your 
future  fate,  and  that  my  fondest  desire  is,  that  your  choice 
will  be  made  with  purity  of  heart  and  conscience." 

"  May  I  not,  if  I  can,  make  you  love  mamma  ?" 

"  My  child  !  my  child  !  She  never  cared  for  your  father, 
more  than  I  do  for  the  mill  that  grinds  me  corn."  Mr.  Mil 
ler  seemed  to  have  momentarily  forgotten  that  he  was  speak 
ing  to  one  who  had  yet  to  learn  that  gold  could  corrupt  the 
heart.  "  No,  let  not  feeling  or  affection  guide  your  choice. 
Go  to  the  one  to  whom  you  can  do  most  good." 

"  Papa  !  papa  !"  Jeanie's  voice  was  choked.  "  Don't 
say  so  ;  don't  talk  so — so  harsh,  so  cruel  of  poor 
mamma." 

"  Was  I  harsh,  my  darling  ?  God  forbid  that  I  should 
grieve  you  more  ;  but  it  was  better  that  I  told  you  than 
another." 

"  When  will  you  go  ?  and  when  will  Arthur  come  ?" 

"  He  will  be  with  you  at  the  close  of  his  college  life.  I 
shall  remain  in  New  York,  and  will  come  to  see  you.  You 
were  very  happy  on  your  last  visit  to  your  mother  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  when  she  held  me  on  her  lap,  and  we  were 
alone  together  ;  but  she  said  that  Aunt  Jane  had  spoiled 
my  beauty — that  she  had  destroyed  all  my  resemblance  to 
her.  Do  I  look  like  her  ?" 

"  You  will  never  be  as  handsome." 

"  Now,  I  remember  she  said  that  if  I  stayed  here  much 
longer  that  I  would  lose  all  the  air  of  the  Castlemans.  Were 
they  grander  than  the  Millers  ?" 

"  Your  father's  family  was  an  humble  one,  Jeauie  ;  what 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  129 

wealth  and  respectability  I  have,  has  been  earned  by  hard 
labor." 

"  What  did  you  work  so  hard  for  ?" 

"  For  naught,  it  seeins." 

"  And  do  you  give  mamma  so  much  that  is  beautiful  ?  She 
has  so  many  friends.  I  could  not  see  her  much  alone.  Do 
you  give  her  so  much  money  when  you  don't  love  her 
papa  ?" 

"  You  are  too  young  to  be  informed  more  on  this  subject. 
Then  you  like  beautiful  things  ?  I  am  glad  of  it,  God 
loves  beauty,  and  has  put  us  in  a  world  of  beauty.  Is  not 
this  a  beautiful  parlor,  with  its  willow  green  curtains,  its 
glittering  mirror,  and  its  night  lamps  in  the  sky  ?" 

"  The  stars  make  me  think  of  Arthur.  He  used  to  talk 
to  me  of  them.  You  don't  like  to  be  very  gay  like 
mamma  ?" 

"Rise  early f to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will  show  you 
what  gaiety  I  love.  The  world  will  be  full  of  it — sunshine, 
bird  music,  bright  flowers,  and  a  gayer  band  of  revellers 
than  any  lighted  hall  ever  assembled." 

It  had  now  become  dark,  the  stars  only  illuminating  the 
country  landscape.  Mr.  Miller,  rftse,  taking  his  little  girl's 
hand.  "  No,  Jeanie,  your  father  is  not  a  misanthrope,  and 
loves  nothing  better  than  your  merry  laugh.  But  I  would 
have  you  happy  rather  than  gay,  and  bear  ever  in  mind,  in 
all  the  allurements  of  your  coming  life,  that  there  is  another 
world,  where  '  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor  ear  heard,  all  that  God 
hath  prepared  for  them  that  love  Him.' " 

So  faithfully  had  Jeanie  been  taught  the  beauty  and 
excellence  of  a  religious  life,  that  her  mind  was  not  bewil- 
dei-ed  by  her  father's  precepts.  Yet  so  terrible,  so  sad,  was 
the  communication  he  had  made,  she  could  not  b$comforted  ; 
and  her  aunt  saw  on  her  return,  she  had  been  weeping,  and 
was  still  in  tears.  When  she  kissed  her,  and  bade  her  good 

6* 


130  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

night,  it  was  with  more  than  her  usual  tenderness  ;  and 
when  in  childish  forgiveness,  Jeauie  fell  asleep,  she  came 
again  to  her  bed-side,  to  which  she  called  her  father,  to 
note  the  touching  sweetness  of  her  face  and  attitude.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  long  lashes  still  wet,  as  if  in 
abandonment  to  sorrow,  she  had  shut  her  eyes  upon  a 
world,  for  the  first  time,  dark  in  prospect. 

She  did  not  fear  continued  depression  for  her  young 
charge  ;  and  believed  that  by  morning,  the  little  brow 
would  be  free  from  its  evening  shadow,  and  full  of  day 
sunshine  ;  but  for  her  affectionate  sorrowing  father,  she  more 
deeply  mourned.  She  was  ignorant  of  the  cause  of  Jeanie's 
grief  ;  and  not  until  the  hour  for  parting  at  night,  was  she 
made  aware  of  it. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Jane,  I  would  speak  to  you." 

"  Here 's  your  candle,  Mr.  Flint,"  said  Keturah,  to 
Zebedee,  hearing  at  the  close  of  the  deacon's  prayer,  the 
request  of  Mr.  Miller.  "  Miss  Jane  has  got  other  circum 
stances  to  attend  to,  besides  you  ;  I'll  see  to  your  rheu- 
matiz." 

With  a  fierce  look  at  people  in  general,  and  desperate 
contortions  of  his  body  amd  mouth,  the  bachelor  eeled  out 
of  the  room,  bidding  Jane  good  night  in  a  manner  which 
spoke- annihilation  to  all  sympathy  for  her  on  his  part,  and 
devouring  propensities  towards  any  thing  human  between 
them — after  which  he  went  to  bed  (so  testified  by  Keturah) 
who  came  ten  minutes  after  with  a  broad  grin  on  her  face, 
from  the  door  of  his  room,  after  sending  in  through  the 
crack  a  hot  brick,  rolled  in  flannel,  for  his  back. 

Jane  and  Mr.  Miller  were  left  in  the  possession  of  the 
comfortable  sofa,  the  former  tucked  away  under  one  of  its 
spacious  arms,  while  her  brother-in-law  occupied  the  other. 
With  some  embarrassment,  Mr.  Miller  imparted  his  com 
munication — telling  her  that  it  was  his  wish  that  she  should 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  131 

still  retain  bis  child  ;  and  continue  her  course  of  instruc 
tion.  "  I  perceive,"  he  remarked,  "  in  my  conversation  with 
her,  that  she  has  been  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  situation  of 
her  parents — this  has  been  right  ;  but  it  is  henceforth  my 
desire,  that  she  is  not  encouraged  with  hope  of  a  reunion 
between  us.  Revelations  which  have  been  made  to  me, 
since  I  have  been  abroa'd,  forbid  it  ;  and  I  wish  her  to 
understand  that  she  can  .never  be  united  to  us  both." 

"  You  did  then  at  one  tune,"  said  Jane,  "  anticipate  a 
different  state  of  things  ?"  her  cheek  coloring  from  timidity  ; 
and  fear  of  intrusion  into  domestic  difficulties. 

"  I  know  not  what  might  have  been  the  result  of  a 
change  in  Mrs.  Miller's  life.  But,  Jane,  this  is  more  than 
I  have  said  of  her  for  years — but  I  cannot  deny  my  confi 
dence  to  the  sister  of  our  angel  Lucy — you  have  reminded 
me  more  of  her  on  this  visit  than  ever."  Mr.  Miller  thought 
of  Jane  as  a  step-mother. 

"  We  were  once  said  to  be  alike,"  replied  the  latter, 
crossing  her  h'ttle  feet,  and  looking  at  them.  "  If  she  had 
only  been  permitted  to  live  " — 

Mr.  Miller  drew  nearer  his  companion. 

"  Or  t  had  sooner  appreciated  her  younger  sister — Jane, 
I  deserve  all  that  I  have  suffered,  for  turning  from  one  like 
you,  to  a  being  so  false  in  principle.  I  do  not  know  that  I 
could  have  ever  won  this  little  hand,"  Mr.  Miller  took  in 
his  own  the  shrinking  fingers  beside  him  ;  "but  I  will  ask, 
if  I  can  obtain  a — divorce,"  was  rather  breathed  than  spoken. 

"  No,  no,"  interposed  Jane,  pale  with  fright  and  agita 
tion.  "  You  are  still  a  hu -found — and  it  is  wrong  to  so 
speak — and  if  it  were  not,  you  could  not  love  two  so  differ 
ent — you  will  offend  me  by  saying  more." 

"  I  will  confess  the  truth  to  you.  I  was  intoxicated 
with  the  beauty  and  charms  of  Elinor  ;  and  loved  her,  yes 
wickedly,  for  it  was  with  a  passion,  no  mortal  should  dare 


132  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

to  feel.  But  when  I  discovered,  that  I  had  been  deluded 
by  her  seeming  love  for  me, -I  parted  from  her;  yet  so 
beguiling  was  she  in  that  painful  hour,  that  I  cherished 
then  a  glimmering  hope  that  we  might  meet  again.  But 
her  subsequent  course  has  made  our  separation  final.  Jane, 
should  I  be  released — for  Jeanie's  sake  ?" 

The  long  crushed  love  of  the  maiden  thrilled  her  frame  ; 
but  her  firm,  religious  feelings  arose  in  the  conflict,  and  she 
felt,  with  grief,  that  her  esteemed  friend  and, brother  had 
been  tempted  .aside,  from  the  correct  line  of  duty  ;  and,  in 
his  regard  for  her,  uttered  language  that  he  would  ultimately 
regret. 

Her  reply,  interrupting  the  speaker,  was  consistent.  She 
firmly  repulsed  the  advances  of  her  married  suitor,  who  felt, 
in  her  words,  a  keen  sense  of  reproach  ;  and  that  he  had 
done  injustice  to  the  integrity  and  purity  of  one  for  whom 
he  felt  an  honest  attachment,  while  he  had  lessened  his  own 
self-respect. 

During  these  few  words,  interrupting  the  conversation, 
which  related  chiefly  to  Jeanie,  both  had  betrayed  emotions 
which  had  never  been  revealed  ;  and  although  the  coy  Jane, 
for  the  first  time,  refused  the  fraternal  kiss,  Mr.  Miller 
learned,  in  that  trembling  denial,  that  he  was  beloved. 

A  desire  for  a  domestic  wife,  and  a  mother  for  his  child, 
had  led  Mr.  Miller  to  declare  his  preference,  in  a  moment, 
when  he  had  believed  it  easy  to  annul  his  marriage. 

The  gentle,  yet  severe,  reproof  he  received,  showed  him  he 
had  deviated  from  the  path  of  honesty,  while  he,  more  than 
ever,  painfully  realized  that  he  was  still  the  husband  of  a 
being,  known  less  as  his  wife  than  as  the  Aspasia  of  a 
world's  worship. 

With  warmth  and  sudden  penitence,  he  craved  the  pardon 
of  her,  whose  love,  compared  to  his  own,  was  as  fire  to 
ashes. 


IHROUGH    THE   WOOD.  133 

Mortification,  rather  than  disappointment,  pervaded  the 
feelings  of  Mr.  Miller,  in  Jane  Selden's  repulse. 

She  was  right  when  she  told  him  that  one  who  had  ever 
loved  Elinor  Castleman,  could  not  meet  the  exaction  of  her 
heart.  The  conversation  had  been  prolonged  beyond  the 
usual  hour  of  retiring,  which  had  given  Zebedee  a  period  of 
afflictive  restlessness.  His  ears  had  become  distended,  and 
his  eyes  expanded  to  a  fearful  size,  while  with  his  mouth 
open,  and  his  legs  exposed  to  the  night  air,  he  sat  on  his  low 
bedstead,  the  door  ajar,  listening  for  Jane's  footsteps  over 
the  staircase. 

She  had  never  sat  up  with  him  after  ten.  It  was  now 
eleven.  He  became  desperate,  and  in  his  excitement,  drew 
around  him  a  bed-blanket,  and  with  his  cotton  night-cap 
drawn  closer,  proceeded  to  the  door  of  the  parlor,  where  he 
listened. 

"  Forget  this  conversation!"  there  was  confidence  and  mys 
tery  implied. 

The  door  creaked.  Mr.  Miller  and  Jane  stood  opposite, 
her  hand  in  his,  the  pair  bidding  good  night.  A  long  nose 
came  through  the  door-way. 

"What  is  there  ?"  said  Mr.  Miller. 

"  It  must  be  the  cat."  The  nose  sneezed.  Jane  knew 
that  she  was  mistaken. 

Alarmed  with  an  exposure  so  unexpected,  Mr.  Flint  sud 
denly  retreated,  and  as  he  did  so,  instead  of  his  own  door, 
opened  one  leading  to  a  small  enclosure  at  the  head  of  the 
cellar  stairs.  He  had  had  a  scolding  from  Keturah,  at 
sunset,  for  his  laziness  in  leaving  a  barrel  of  molasses  there 
standing.  In  his  haste  and  precipitancy  he  now  upset  it, 
breaking  the  head  in  its  fall,  and  in  his  eagerness  to  escape 
unseen  to  his  room,  fell  lucklessly  into  the  upturned  flood  of 
sweets. 

Though  like  a  fly  in  a  mug  of  honey,  he  wished  himself 
6* 


134  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

extricated  ;  still,  his  bones  were  uninjured,  so  soft  and  rich 
was  the  immersion. 

From  the  confinement  of  the  place,  there  was  no  escape 
for  his  bath,  and  scarcely  for  himself,  so  pressingly  was  he 
detained.  Unfortunately,  his  clothing  was  light,  and  his 
plunge  extensive,  his  person  fieing  generously  overwhelmed, 
barring  the  top  of  his  head. 

If  there  was  anything  which  Zebedee  hated,  it  was 
molasses  and  small  children — both  being,  in  his  estimation, 
sticky  and  unwholesome.  His  situation  was  unpleasant.  He 
might  have  cried  out  in  his  dilemma,  but  he  could  not,  for 
molasses,  of  which  his  mouth  was  full ;  he  would  have  been 
independent,  and  gone  slily  to  bed,  for  there  was  nothing 
noisy  about  the  accident,  or  his  fall ;  but  he  would  leave  dis 
cernible  tracks  behind  him  ;  besides,  he  was  in  no  condition 
for  retirement.  It  was  useless  to  be  excited,  and  to  groan, 
scold,  or  halloa,  was  not  feasible.  He  thought,  with  com 
punction,  of  all  the  small  races  he  had  pitilessly  seen 
immersed  like  himself,  and  honestly  wished,  if  he  must  be 
drowned,  that  it  might  be  in  something  more  limpid. 

Zealous  were  his  efforts — energetic  his  exertions,  as  he 
flounced  and  splashed  in  the  West  Indian  product,  regardless 
of  wasteful  expenditure,  only  praying  (unutterably)  for  a 
release  from  th,e  mass,  which,  undammed,  and  in  full  power 
and  thickness,  came  upon  him.  His  wits  did  not  wholly 
desert  him,  or  he  might  have  never  survived  the  surfeit.  By 
an  effort,  the  cellar-door  was  opened,  when  down  rolled  the 
empty  barrel,  after  which,  followed  the  hitherto  pent-up 
flood. 

The  noise  gave  the  alarm  to  the  household.  Grandma 
declared  that  it  could  not  be  the  rats  in  the  cellar,  or  they 
had  got "  awful  big."  She  and  grandpa  both  got  up.  Energy 
was  soon  imparted  to  Keturah,  who  came  down  stairs  in  a. 
"skairt"  and  scant  condition,  and  with  characteristic  reso- 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  135 

lution,  seized  a  broomstick,  faced  the  danger,  light  in 
hand. 

At  the  condition  of  the  unrecognizable  object  within  view 
from  which  all  humanity  seemed  abstracted,  she  only 
screamed,  and  cried, 

"  It's  a  species  I  don't  know,  'as  I'm  alive,  Miss  Jane — it 
ain't  a  nigger  nor  an  ootang — it  ain't  anything  wild  or  tame 
• — and  it's  upset  the  treacle."  But  with  another  look,  and 
poke  with  her  broomstick,  she  caught  a  view  of  something 
human,  and  recognized  the  mouth  of  the  bachelor.  With  a 
sudden  haul,  she  drew  out  the  gasping,  enraged  victim,  and 
rushed  for  male  assistance.  Sleep,  she  declared  she  could 
not,  that  night,  wondering  how  Mr.  Flint  "  could  be  so  soft 
as  to  pitch  into  such  a  mess,  besides  the  awful  waste."  How 
he  was  restored  to  his  original  purity,  was  left  on  her  mind 
ever  a  mystery  ;  for  although  she  heard  the  pump  going  till 
morning,  she  never  could  pump  out  of  Mr.  Flint  the  cause  of 
the  disaster.  Out  of  .regard  to  his  feelings,  molasses  was  not 
for  a  long  time  seen  on  the  table  at  Deacon  Selden's. 


136  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

JEANIE  awoke  the  following  morning,  to  a  new  life — 
the  inner  one  in  which  thought  reigns  ;  the  actual  world 
with  its  external  circumstance,  was  veiled  in  mystery,  by 
dark  revealings. 

She  did  not  realize,  nor  understand  all  that  her  father  had 
said,  but  his  sorrows  impressed  her  young  heart  sadly  ;  and 
for  the  first  time  she  began  to  think  that  those  once  united 
should  live  and  love  one  another  as  the  Bible  commands.  She 
believed  there  was  fault  somewhere,  but  did  not  like  to  know 
that  it  reflected  on  either  parent.  She  had  composed  herself 
to  sleep,  thinking  that  she  would  be  a  peace-maker,  such  as 
Christ  calls  "  blessed."  She  would — and  sweet  and  thrilling 
was  the  thought  to  the  loving  child — bring  them,  at  last,- 
together. 

As  days  advanced,  though  her  face  at  times  was  pensive, 
and  showed  the  trace  of  tears,  she  was  generally  cheerful ; 
for  hope  like  a  dove  unfledged,  nestled  at  her  heart.  Her 
usually  bright  cheek,  lost  for  a  while  its  richest  bloom  ;  and 
at  times  her  eyelids  looked  heavy,  but  her  voice  spoke 
sweeter  music,  and  acquired  a  greater  depth  of  melody. 
Its  gayest  intonation  was  exchanged  for  an  expressive 
utterance  of  feeling  often  beyond  her  years.  Her  hail- 
waved  around  an  unruffled  brow  ;  and  cheerily  as  of  old, 
she  skipped  and  danced  with  her  kid  or  playmate.  And 
yet  one  who  noted  her,  as  she  stole  away  by  herself,  sitting 
down  upon  the  grassy  knoll ;  or  in  her  chamber  at  sunset, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  137 

or  by  moonlight,  when  she  would  often  clasp  her  little 
hands,  letting  her  long  lashes  droop  over  her  stainless 
cheek ;  might  tell  by  the  holy  expression  there  revealed, 
that  the  child  was  communing  with  her  heart ;  and  lifting 
it  to  God  in  prayer. 

Though  still  a  child,  over  her  mind  had  brooded  fancies 
and  imaginings,  such  as  would  make  one  older,  thoughtful. 
Tender  and  deep,  were  the  emotions  that  swelled  it — all 
rushing  into  one  channel,  sympathy  and  love  for  her 
unhappy  parents.  During  her  father's  visit,  she  had  much 
sweet  communion  with  him.  She  seemed  wiser  and  older 
than  when  he  came — as  if  new  light  had  entered  her  soul. 

The  night  before  he  left,  she  could  not  sleep,  while  thinking 
how  much  she  had  enjoyed  his  visit  ;  and  that  her  absent 
mother  would  not  see  him.  It  could  not  be  impressed  upon 
her,  that  she  did  not  like  herself  love  him,  and  would  not 
grieve  for  his  neglect. 

She  had  lain  quiet  as  if  asleep,  until  her  aunt's  eyes 
were  closed  upon  her  pillow.  The  moonbeams  sheeted  the 
room,  in  which  light,  the  waving  trees  cast  their  flickering 
shadows.  The  night  breeze  rustled  through  the  branches, 
and  the  katydids  sung  their  never  ceasing  tune  of  disputa 
tion.  Jeanie  h£d  listened  to  the  music,  to  the  sighing  of 
the  wind,  to  the  solemn  ticking  of  the  clock  below  ;  and 
growing  no  sleepier,  slid  noiselessly  from  her  bed,  and  to  the 
open  shutter,  and  looked  out  upon  the  moonlight  atmo 
sphere.  It  was  as  light  as  day ;  but  a  day  of  softer 
radiance  than  the  sun  ever  gilded.  It  was  a  holier,"  sweeter 
illumination,  making  the  soul  melancholy,  and  the  brain 
reflective. 

Sorrowful  it  was  to  know  that  one  so  young,  so  childish 
as  she  looked,  in  her  white  night  dress  ;  her  bare  feet  like 
the  patter  of  snow  touching  the  carpet,  could  not  rest  for 
a  troubled  mind.  If  she  could  once  more  see  and  kiss  her 


138  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

father,  she  might,  perhaps — and  yet  she  dared  not.  Still 
she  could  go  to  his  room,  and  if  he  was  to  speak  'to  her, 
and  say  "good  night"  again,  she  might  repose  more 
quietly. 

Gliding  to  his  door,  she  saw  him  quiet,  as  if  no  little 
heart  beat  with  agony  for  his  trials.  She  went  in  and  laid 
her  head  beside  hun.  Feeling  her  touch,  Mr.  Miller  awoke, 
and  started  painfully. 

"  My  little  Jeanie  ?" 

In  a  hushed  voice,  as  if  frightened  from  sleep,  the  little 
girl  clung  to  her  father's  neck,  still  shuddering. 

"  Are  you  alarmed  ?" 

"  No,  but  kiss  me,  and  do  love  mamma." 

"  My  darling — you  distress  me — go  to  your  rest.  I  will 
write  to  you,  very,  very  often,  and  Arthur  will  come  on 
your  birth-day.  Now  go — once  more,  good-bye." 

"  Say  you  will  love  her."  The  white  lips  were  buried  in 
the  folds  of  his  pillow. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  as  God  commands  us  to  love." 

"  Do  you  pray  for  her  ?  and  will  you  let  her  be  one'  of  us, 
in  the  grave-yard  when  we  die,  that  we  may  all  go  to  God 
together?"  ,  ,. 

"  Jeanie,  you  will  kill  me — I  cannot  listgp  to  you.  You 
will  see  her  next  winter,  and  if  an  angel  can  convert  her, 
you  can,  my  darling.  Go  yourself  and  pray  for  your 
mother." 

"  May  I  here  ?  and  will  you,  too  ?" 

No  audible  words  were  breathed,  but  while  the  little  girl 
clasped  her  hands,  her  eyes  raised  to  Heaven,  her  father's 
lips  moved  in  fervent  petition — and  together  they  uttered 
"  amen." 

Heart  clasped  to  heart,  the  choking  good-bye  was  again 
repeated  ;  and  before  Jeanie  had  roused  from  her  morning 
slumber,  her  father  had  gone. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  139 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  following  week,  Jeanie  was  cheered  by  letters  from 
all  her  absent  friends  ;  and  with  the  sanguine  hope 
of  finally  effecting  the  fond  desire  of  her  heart,  she  resumed 
her  pursuits,  and  entered  as  of  old  into  her  former  pleasures 
— the  expected  visit  of  her  brother  affording  her  the  most 
joyful  anticipation.  She  was  made  happy  by  the  promise 
of  a  rural  excursion  upon  her  birthday,  with  a  juvenile  party 
who  were  to  be  invited  to  the  farm. 

The  affair  was  one  so  novel  to  Jeanie  as  to  wildly  elate 
her  spirits,  as  the  period  arrived.  It  had  been  arranged  by 
grandpa  that  the  children  should  take  a  drive  before  sunset 
in  his  large  wagon,  and  return  for  their  evening  sport. 

They  were  all  to  be  adorned  with  white  wreaths,  which 
were  to  be  twined  for  them.  It  was  the  birthday  of  Jane's 
damask  roses,  as  well  as  Jeanie's.  A  more  beautiful  one 
had  never  dawned.  The  little  girl  was  up  by  light,  watch 
ing  the  sun  coming  over  the  hills,  and  had  already  awak 
ened  grandpa  by  singing,  "  Call  me  early  " — melody  accom 
panied  by  a  loud  slam  from  the  door  of  the  bachelor  Flint, 
causing  her  to  hush  her  music,  and  proceed  on  tip-toe  to  the 
garden,  where  with  an  outstretched  hand  she  was  met  by  the 
old  man,  who  stood  at  the  gate  ready  to  welcome  her. 

Sweet  to  the  child's  senses  was  the  morning  air  with  its 
fresh  fragrance — she  caring  not  for  wet  grass  or  dewy  damps 
— only  thinking  of  the  sparkling  drops  that  lay  like  jewels 
on  the  blades,  making  each  floweret  leaf  a  coronet,  and  each 


140  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

insect  web  that  curtained  the  beds  of  chirping  things,  like 
hangings  of  silver  tissue  With  bounding  feet  she  trips  the 
clovery  path,  plucking  the  honeyed  crimson  flowers,  sucking 
their  sweets,  while  from  the  lips  of  yellow  butter-cups,  and 
the  brilliant  golden  rod,  she  shakes  the  water-drops,  gilding 
the  red  of  her  sweet  lips  with  the  amber  down. 

Then  growing  momentarily  sad  with  the  overwhelming 
sense  of  beauty,  and  the  glory  of  God's  universe,  she  won 
dered  why  and  for  what  she  was  put  into  a  world  of  so  much 
brightness,  where  all  but  hearts  were  ever  gay.  Then  came 
the  awakening  of  the  child's  pure  faith,  for  the  moment 
sleeping  ;  and  she  knew  that  it  was  that  she  might  worship 
Him,  its  great  Creator. 

Her  veins  were  thrilling  with  the  coursing  of  health's  pure 
blood,  and  in  the  joy  of  her  young  fancy,  she  cast  out  all 
but  thoughts  of  a  happy  day,  and  with  the  old  man  talked, 
making  him  think  of  the  little  robin  that  waked  him,  sing 
ing  by  his  chamber  window. 

Bushels  of  roses  she  found  for  her  garlands,  though  they 
were  not  choice,  nor  very  beautiful  ;  but  as  if  born  of  Para 
dise,  they  looked  to  our  child  Jeanie,  clustering  in  bunches, 
"on  low  stunted  bushes,  growing  without  care  or  culture  ; 
not  like  the  pet  damask,  now  flowering  with  its  twin  buds, 
in  the  yard.  Aunt  Jane  was  expected  to  cull  the  brightest 
for  the  birthday  festival,  but,  much  alarmed,  Jeanie  saw 
that  Keturah  had  begun  the  work  of  amputation,  knowing 
that  the  taste  of  the  buxom  damsel  ran  signally  to  the 
strongest  and  biggest,  caring  little  for  sweetness  or  delicacy. 
No  humming-bird  was  daintier  than  our  little  heroine  in  her 
choice  of  blossoms.  A  "  winged  jewel"  she  looked,  too,  as 
she  hovered  in  the  morning  light  among  the  flowers. 

But  while  Keturah  was  slashing  the  hollyhocks  and  pop 
pies,  Aunt  Jane  came  from  the  house,  with  rubbers  and  sun- 
bonnet,  gardening  gloves  and  scissors  in  hand. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  141 

With  delight,  Jeanie  met  her,  her  own  apron  full  of 
flowers,  while  she  led  her  pei-suasively  to  the  loaded  bushes, 
that,  as  she  said,  "  broke  their  backs  with  beauties."  She 
had  in  vain  tried  to  lure  grandpa  from  his  onion  bed  to  look 
at  them  ;  and  with  joy  that  lighted  her  eyes,  and  sparkled 
in  each  glad  feature,  she  clasped  the  hand  of  Jane,  and 
kissed  it  in  her  gratitude.  She  had  at  last  found  sympathy, 
and  who  does  not  love  it,  from  the  little  one  that  lifts  its 
wet  eyes,  and  the  tiny  scratched  finger,  pleading  for  the  kiss 
to  make  it  well,  to  the  heart-wearied,  whose  sorrows  are 
alleviated  by  the  priceless  consolation,  falling  like  dew  on 
the  crushed  flower. 

It  was  not  long  before  4he  whole  household  were  in  the 
garden,  for  it  was  not  simply  devoted  to  flowers,  these  only 
occupying  the  borders.  Grandma  was  in  the  beans,  among 
stacks  of  poles,  around  which  clustered  red  and  white 
blossoms,  mingled  with  the  long  pods  ;  and  Zebedee,  who  had 
missed  Jane,  stood  bewildered,  looking  for  her  in  the 
squashes.  It  was  evident  from  his  gait  that  he  had  taken 
cold,  which  Jane  had  feared  when  he  went  out  after  bathing 
his  feet. 

The  old  couple,  by  some  kind  of  magnetism,  soon  found 
themselves  under  one  vine,  while  Keturah  had  drawn  Jeanie 
aside,  to  tell  her  that  she  had  engaged  Bill  Stone  to  fiddle, 
and  Jim  Barbacue  to  play  on  the  banjo,  while  she  calculated 
to  "  perform  on  the  comb."  These  arrangements  were  new 
to  Jeanie,  and  altogether  unknown  to  Jane,  though  the 
former  had  anticipated  something  marvellous,  from  the  winks 
and  blinks  of  Keturah  as  she  tucked  her  up  the  night  before. 

But  the  attention  of  the  latter  was  attracted  to  Mr.  Flint, 
who  was  out  of  the  thickest  of  the  squashes,  and  sidling 
along  into  the  currant  bushes.  She  could  not  resist  a  laugh, 
which  was  never  a  low  one,  while  her  big  shears  (which  she 
had  procured  in  lieu  of  the  carving-knife),  opened  and  shut 


142  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

widely  to  the  downfall  of  the  marigold  family  ;  her  mouth 
keeping  time  to  the  performance  in  a  succession  of  audible 
noises,  as  she  watched  the  movements  of  the  limping  bache 
lor,  who  had  not  made  the  headway  he  intended  towards 
Jane  ;  but  instead,  stood  with  his  feet  entangled  in  a  pump 
kin-vine. 

"  One  of  'em  is  as  good  as  his  head,  any  day,"  soliloquized 
Keturah  ;  then  screaming  aloud  to  Jeanie,  "here's  your 
posies — plaguy  pretty  ones,  too — they'll  do  for  the  chimneys 
— I  must  go  and  see  to  the  curda,  and  shave  the  cowcum- 
bers." 

"  Won't  we  have  such  a  nice  tune,  Keturah  ?"  queried 
Jeanie,  who  sat  on  the  chain  of  the  garden-gate,  tying  white 
buds  together. 

"  '  That's  as  you  behave,'  as  your  grandpa  says.  I  think 
it  will  be  a  neat  concern,  if  the  doughnuts  is  riz,  but  if  they 
ain't,  it  will  be  distressid.  Mr.  Flint  looks  on  the  pint  of 
failin'  ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Jeanie  looked  up,  and  caught  the  expression  of  Keturah's 
face,  and  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  I  meant  failin'  to  get  along  side  of  your  Aunt  Jane — 
that's  all,"  said  Keturah,  stamping  down  a  potato  hill. 
Then  with  another  look  at  the  bachelor,  who  was  playing  fox 
and  geese  in  the  corn,  and  another  show  of  her  white  even 
teeth,  Keturah  went  in  to  get  breakfast,  singing  her  favorite 
song. 

"  Oh,  at  the  siege  of  Bellisle — 
I  was  there  all  the  while ! 
At  the  siege  of  Bellisle, 
I  was  there  all  the  while !" 

Jeanie  flew  about  the  garden  paths,  though  the  sun  was  • 
growing  hotter  every  minute,  following  her  Aunt  Jane,  who 
did  not  answer  half  her  questions,  though   she  smiled  as 
ever,  pleasantly. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  143 

The  raven  was  coming  nearer,  and  all  lark  singing  was 
hushed  in  his  croaks.  Zebedee  had  arrived,  and  his  face 
and  tones  were  dismal  enough  to  excite  the  never  exhausted 
sympathy  of  Jane.  She  knew  by  his  mouth  he  was  un 
well. 

"  I  have  got  a  bad  cold,"  said  he,  putting  on  another  inch 
of  countenance.  "  I  have  known  for  a  week  it  was  coming 
on." 

"  Have  you  left  off  your  flannel,  or  set  in  a  draught  ?" 
inquired  Jane,  looking  up  from  her  roses,  around  which  she 
was  tying  a  snowy  ribbon. 

"  No — colds  are  nat'ral  to  me.  There  wan't  bed-clothes 
enough  on  my  bed.  There  never  is.  My  head  is  all  stuffed 
up!" 

"  Jeanie,  run  and  get  Mr.  Flint  his  over-shoes — he  has 
forgotten  them." 

"  She's  so  harem-scarem,  she  can't  find  'em." 

"  I  will  try  to,"  said  Jeanie,  throwing  her  wreath  into  her 
aunt's  basket,  and  skipping  towards  the  house. 

"  Haven Jfc  you  picked  enough  of  them  things  ?  They'll 
make  the  house  damp.  I  wish  my  stockings  were  knit 
longer.  Betsey  makes  my  clothes  so  short — she  always  did. 
Ain't  you  coming  in  sometime  to-day  ?  my  ears  are  stopping 
up." 

"  Presently.  You  are  impatient,  cousin  ;  you  had  better 
go  in,  and  ask  Keturah  to  roast  you  a  small  onion — one  for 
each." 

Keturah  was  right  when  she  said  that  Miss  Jane  was  "  the 
patientest,crittur  on  arth." 

Jeanie  had  returned  with  the  over-shoes,  in  which  (after 
putting  on)  Zebedee  discovered  some  fish-hooks,  which  acci 
dent  not  only  caused  him  some  delay,  but  the  utterance  of 
a  succession  of  inelegant  words.  His  gratitude  for  the  favor 
done  him  was,  therefore,  not  evident. 


144  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Fish-hooks  in  my  feet,  Jane  !"  he  concluded.  "  Do  you 
hear  that  ?  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"  I  did  not  see  them,"  said  Jeanie,  apologetically.  "  They 
must  have  been  at  the  toe." 

"  And  so  you  would  put  them  inside?  You  small  hop! 
You'll  be  the  death  of  me,  without  doubt — without  doubt." 

Jeanie  ran  forward  in  seeming  haste.  Jane  now  arose 
from  her  seat  (a  little  wicker  chair),  and  with  her  basket 
heaped  with  rose  branches,  proceeded  within. 

"  Can't  you  heft  it  ?"  said  Zebedee,  not  offering  assistance; 
but  pulling  up  his  slip-shod  over-shoes  which  napped  behind 
him,  as  he  shuffled  after  Jane.  "  What  are  they  for  ?" 

"  For  Jeanie's  party,"  replied  the  latter,  walking  daintily 
on  the  tips  of  her  little  feet,  holding  up  her  white  skirt,  lest 
it  might  catch  a  taint  of  garden-soil. 

"It's  the  first  that  I  have  heard  of  it,"  said  Zebedee,  with 
a  snuff,  talking  thicker. 

"  I  thought  that  you  knew  about  it,  we  have  spoken  of  it 
so  long." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  would  be  any  loss,  in  the  state  of 
my  health,  if  I  didn't  hear  about  it  at  all.  I  might  say 
something,  Jane,  if  you  ever  found  any  time  to  hear  me.  It 
seems  to  me,  sometimes,  as  if  it  wouldn't  be  much  lamented 
if  I  was  dead.  I  do  feel  so,  and  since  this  small  child  came, 
as  if  I  was  nobody — an  inferior  nobody.  I  am  no  com- 
plainer,  you  know,  but  being  made  no  more  of  than  an  angle 
worm,  that  feels  as  comfortable  under  ground,  as  in  any 
other  situation  in  life,  don't  suit  me.  'I  might,  for  all  most 
people  care,  be  as  insignificant  as  Betsey  Washburn.  There 
was  a"  time,  Jane,  when  you  was  younger,  that  you  had  feel 
ings  ;  but  if  you've  outgrown  'em,  why,  it's  nothing  to  me,  I 
suppose." 

"  I  am  always  ready  to  listen  to  you,  or  to  bene'fit  you, 
cousin — you  will  feel  better  after  breakfast  ;  perhaps 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  145 

something  you've  eaten  don't  set  well  on  your  stomach  ; 
or  that  you  have  not  recovered  from  the  irritation  of  the 
fish-hooks." 

"  Yes,  just  so !  fish-hooks  and  my  stomach  !  as  if 
pan-cakes  and  mustard  was  all  I  wanted — -just  so  ;  from 
morning  till  night,  and  night  till  morning — no  matter  how  I 
feel,  it's  a  hot-brick  and  a  plaster,  and  onions  in  my  ears  ; 
maybe,  Jane,  you'll  be  sorry  some  day,  when  they  are 
stopped  thicker.  I  suppose  you  don't  know,  nor  consider, 
that  there's  a  crack  in  my  door  that  lets  in  the  wind." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  have  taken  cold  ;  what  do  yon 
think  of  a  little  butter  and  honey  ?" 

"  All  I  need  is  quiet,  if  you'd  only  attend  to  me,  and  not 
leave  me  suffer  as  you  do — and  agree  to  give  up  children, 
and  unhealthy  fogs.  I  hadn't  ought  to  have  come  out  so 
early,  and  shouldn't  but  for  you,  Jane." 

"  It  was  imprudent,  and  I  fear  that  you  will  feel  the 
effects  of  it." 

"  I  ain't  easy  till  I  know  where  you  be,  Jane.  I  know, 
then,  that  there's  one  that  don't  leave  me  to  suffer,  like 
Keturah  Sprunt.  I  sometimes  think  the  way  I  live  is 
unfavorable.  I  ought  to  be  in  some  kind  of  business,  and 
settled.  I've  heard  that  old  people  were  unhealthy,  and 
small  ones  I  never  was  brought  up  to." 

Zebedee  was  cut  short  in  his  addresses  to  Jane,  by  their 
arrival  at  the  gate,  where  Jeanie  stood  to  greet  her  aunt — 
she  having  flown  into  the  house  with  her  apron  full  of 
flowery  treasures — knowing  that  the  comers  behind  would 
walk  slowly. 

The  breakfast  over,  Zebedee's  bed  fixed,  and  his  crack, 
and  ears  stuffed,  Aunt  Jane  was  ready  to  help  about  the 
the  cake.  Jeanie  was  allowed  to  run  her  straw  in  it,  when 
out  of  the  oven  ;  and  to  help  frost  the  "  hearts  and  rounds," 
in  which  occupation,  she  was  engaged,  until  her  cheeks 


146  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

grew  scarlet,  and  Keturah  said,  her  "  hair  stuck  all  ways 
for  Sunday." 

A  contrast  she  made  to  her  quiet  aunt  (though  she 
was  now  as  tall),  who  went  about  doing  everything,  and 
seeming  to  do  nothing — wearing  a  cap  of  delicate  muslin, 
under  which  every  silken  hair  was  tucked.  Jane  always 
cooked  with  a  cap  on;  and  wore  also  a  white  starched 
linen  apron  up  to  her  neck,  though  it  might  have  seemed 
unnecessary  ;  for  no  spot  ever  sullied  it  ;  and  to  have  seen, 
at  any  time,  as  much  dust  as  could  light  on  a  mosquito's 
wing,  on  any  fold  of  her  attire,  would  have  created  as 
much  marvel,  as  a  begrimed  snow-flake  on  the  descent 
from  Heaven. 

Jane's  nice  and  quiet  ways  were  almost  provoking  to 
Keturah — not  that  she  did  not  approve  of  tidiness,  but  she 
liked,  to  "  know  when  folks  were  about  ;"  that  she'd  "  rather 
be  run  into  by  a  cart  and  oxen  now  and  then,  than  to  have 
people  lighting  about  like  butter-flies  on  tomb-stones  ;"  but 
as  for  Miss  Jane,  she  believed  she  was  a  "  sperrit." 

How  Mr.  Flint  knew  that  the  cake-making  was  over,  no 
one  divined  ;  but  as  Jane  came  from  the  door-way,  where 
she  had  been  washing  her  white  fingers,  her  arms  full  of 
asparagus  for  the  fire-places,  he  stood  between  the  rooms, 
and  as  she  was  alone,  went  in  to  help.  He  felt  an  over 
whelming  consciousness  that  he  had  never  "  told  his  love," 
although  he  always  meant  to,  when  he  could  with  safety. 
After  that,  he  did  hope,  he  should  have  some  privileges. 

The  dainty  little  form  was  now  on  its  knees,  putting  in 
the  feathery  branches  into  a  brown  stone  pitcher,  among 
which  were  mingled  some  red  berries  from  a  Jerusalem 
cherry  shrub  ;  when  with  a  handkerchief  over  his  head,  to 
keep  in  the  onions,  enveloped  in  a  short  grey  cloak, 
appeared  Zebedee  who  came  close  beside  the  little  active 
busv  Jane 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  147 

"  These  nubs  are  pretty  and  considerable  bunchy,"  said 
the  bachelor. 

"  Don't  touch  them,  they  are  damp." 

"  Did  you  know,"  said  Zebedee,  "  that  I  found  my 
fish-line  in  a  snarl  ?  You  never  get  in  a  snarl.  Do  you 
Jane  ?" 

"  I  have  no  occasion  to  be  disturbed."  The  placid  face 
was  now  down  by  the  brown  jug,  her  hands  on  both  sides 
of  it. 

Zebedee  caught  indiscreetly  hold  of  one  of  Jane's 
thumbs.  It  was  all,  belonging  to  her,  that  he  saw  disen 
gaged.  At  this  instant,  she  needed  her  muscular  strength, 
which  was  not  much,  to  place  the  pitcher  loaded  with  its 
burden  in  the  fire-place.  The  action  of  the  bachelor  caused 
her  hand  to  slip,  when  down  came  the  vessel  of  water,  and 
asparagus  brush,  with  a  violent  smash  upon  the  hearth  and 
carpet. 

In  the  inundation,  Jane's  feet  were  flooded.  With 
sudden  energy  Zebedee  attempted  to  make  reparation  for 
the  mischief — but  lest  he  might  take  cold,  jumped  precipi 
tately  from  the  flowing  current,  and  in  his  sympathetic  zeal 
for  Jane,  caught  her  around  the  waist,  and  as  desperately 
as  a  pursued  heifer  "might  leap  a  fence,  jumped  with  her  into 
the  middle  of  the  room. 

The  movement  surprised  himself,  and  shocked  his  com 
panion. 

Seeing  that  one  of  the  little  feet,  beside  his  own,  was 
well  soaked  (encouraged  by  his  first  plunge),  he  dove  for 
it,  catching  and  squeezing  it. 

"  It's  a  fish,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  wish  it  was  mine." 

It  had  been  Mr.  Flint's  intention  to  ask  Jane,  instead, 
for  her  hand,  but  circumstances  had  lowered  his  views, 
much  to  the  horror  and  resentment  of  the  fair  jug-bearer. 
Her  prudery  was  alarmed,  causing  her  to  suddenly  take  the 


148  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

member  into  her  own  possession.  Zebedee  knew  by  the 
way  she  did  it,  that  she  had  a  right  to,  and  that  it  was 
not  poetically  a  fish,  but  a  foot,  and  belonged  to  Jane. 

The  bachelor  lover  was  never  so  delightfully  situated. 
He  was  exposed  to  damp,  yet  he  seemed  on  fire.  Cold 
water  had  been  thrown  on  his  suit,  yet  he  was  in  a  warm 
perspiration.  Jane  too  was  moved,  and  he  was  the  cause 
of  the  commotion.  He  believed  that  he  had  excited  a 
feeling  aside  from  sympathy  for  his  colds  and  general 
debility.  Though  afflicted  with  "  a  couple  of  influenzas," 
as  Keturah  said,  he  didn't  mind  his  propinquity  to  water, 
and  never  knew  what  happiness  was,  till  he  saw  Jane  with 
her  cheeks  so  red  (the  little  pale  Jaue),  holding  up  her 
white  skirts  with  faint  screams,  dancing  out  from  under  the 
wing  of  his  old  grey  cloak.  What  matter  if  she  was 
fluttered,  wet  and  angry?  He  had  seen  little  white 
bantams  bristle  up  just  so,  and  he  thought  they  looked 
pretty. 

It  was  no  small  child  now,  but  the  coveted  maiden  of  his 
bachelor  dreams  ;  and  for  an  instant  she  might  have  felt 
that  there  had  been  a  war  in  the  elements,  and  that  she  had 
been  pounced  upon  by  a  bird  of  prey. 

An  illusion  soon  dissipated.  Jane  was  consistently  practi 
cal,  as  her  subsequent  conduct  and  speech  testified. 

"  You  had  better  go  into  the  kitchen  and  dry,"  recovering 
her  equanimity. 

Agitated  with  both  the  exposure  and  excitement,  hearing 
nothing  that  Jane  said,  with  his  tjed-up  ears,  the  bachelor 
still  flounced  about  like  a  landed  shad,  not  feeling  conscious 
as  yet  whether  he  was  in  water,  or  out  of  it. 

"  Go  and  d-r-y,"  said  Jane,  in  a  louder  tone,  to  Zebedee, 
who  now  thrust  his  head  at  her  from  beneath  his  cloak,  with 
a  turtle  gesture. 

At  this  instant/  Keturah  appeared  from  the  kitchen  to 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  149 

ascertain  the  cause  of  the  commotion  ;  which  vision  occa 
sioned  the  abrupt  departure  of  Mr.  Flint — Jane  going  to 
her  room,  from  whence  she  soon  returned  with  fresh  hose 
and  cap. 

Grandma  and  grandpa,  with  Jeanie,  had  now  arrived  to 
see  the  catastrophe,  loudly  proclaimed  by  Keturah,  which 
was  pronounced  by  the  old  people  very  careless  in  Jane. 

Keturah  flew  about  with  mop  and  broom  so  fast,  grand 
ma  thought  she  was  "  possessed  " — Jeanie,  meantime,  loading 
her  bent  back  with  the  fallen  greens,  no  one  having  an  idea 
how  it  could  have  happened  from  the  simple  account  given 
by  the  now  composed  maiden.  Accidents  or  disturbances  of 
this  kind  were  uncommon  at  the  farm,  consequently  this 
caused  a  topic  for  the  old  couple  a  good  part  of  the  day. 

The  mischief  repaired,  the  flowers  arranged  in  the  porce 
lain  vases  on  the  mantel-pieces,  the  conch-shells  made  con 
spicuous,,  the  parlor  put  in  order  (which  was  never  known  to 
be  out  of  that  condition),  Jane  repaired  to  the  second  floor, 
leaving  Jeanie  making  Flora-saucers  below. 

On  Keturah's  return  from  the  kitchen,  she  found  Mr. 
Flint  sneezing,  snuffing,  and  drying,  in  the  chimney  corner. 
She  politely  asked  if  he  "  couldn't  bake  as  well  further  in." 
But  the  bachelor,  deeming  that  he  had  the  privilege  of 
enjoying  his  cold  in  his  own  private  way,  stayed  where  he  was. 
Grandma  had  been  down  the  hill  to  one  of  the  neighbors,  to 
take  home  a  "  blueing-bag,"  which  she  had  borrowed,  and 
after  telling  all  the  particulars  of  the  accident,  and  about 
the  party,  and  Zebedee's  cold,  came  back.  Entering  the 
kitchen  way,  she  caught  a  brief  view  of  the  invalid's  face, 
and  observing  that  it  was  of  the  same  color  as  his  red  hand 
kerchief,  was  much  alarmed.  (Grandma  never  forgot  that 
he  was  an  orphan).  She  asked,  not  wishing  to  alarm  him, 
if  he  had  ever  had  the  scarlet  fever. 

"  No,"  came  from  the  left  corner  of  his  mouth. 


150  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  It's  only  one  of  your  poor  turns,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  They  get  oftener  every  day  I  live,  and  there  ain't  any 

way  to  cure  'ein  but  to  let  rne  alone." 

"  He's  mad  as  a  hop,"  whispered  Keturah,  while  she  went 

on  rolling  her  dough,  singing  at  intervals, 

"  At  the  siege  of  Bellisle, 
I  was  there  all  the  while." 

"  Got  it  fishin',"  said' grandpa,  now  in  the  doorway  ;  "let 
him  be  ;  it  will  work  off." 

"  Yes,  work  off  1  my  head  biling,  and  my  eyes  and  ears 
shut  up,  without  any  feeling,"  growled  Zebedee. 

"  I  should  think  you'd  roast  as  well  as  bile,"  put  in  Ke 
turah.  "  I've  got  to  cook  somethin'  else  pretty  soon — 

'  I  was  there  all  the  while, 
At  the  siege  of  Bellisle.'  " 

"  Zeb  will  move,  I  guess,"  said  grandpa,  good-naturedly. 

Keturah's  patience,  with  which  she  was  not  overstocked, 
was  now  exhausted.  Wishing  to  bake  her  biscuit,  she  came 
towards  the  fireplace,  and  with  unnecessary  carelessness, 
caused  a  downfall  of  the  tongs,  also  that  of  a  long  slice- 
shovel,  that  fell  against  one  of  Mr.  Flint's  feet,  innocently  at 
the  time,  reposing  in  the  ashes. 

With  a  prolonged  howl,  the  enraged  bachelor  caught  hold 
of  the  unlucky  member  in  both  hands,  while  he  berated  Ke 
turah,  hopping  meanwhile  around  the  kitchen  on  the  other, 
till  his  face,  which  had  become  scarlet  with  the  heating  pro 
cess,  burst  forth  into  such  a  state  of  fomentation,  that  the 
old  lady  was  relieved  respecting  his  symptoms.  She  knew 
that  "  general  debility  "  was  all  that  ailed  him. 

Keturah  betrayed  no  sympathy,  but  kept  up  her  song,  till 
Zebedee  became  nervous,  and  out  of  revenge  went  into  the 
fire  again.  An  event  causing  the  old  couple  to  look  at  each 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  151 

other  significantly,  while  each  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  out  of 
the  same  box.  Keturah  made  unfeeling  gestures  with  a 
broom,  and  ugly  faces  behind  the  sufferer's  back. 

"  Zebedee  was  always  weakly,"  said  grandma,  going  into 
the  sitting-room  with  grandpa,  her  head  shaking. 

"Always  lazy,  Hannah,  that's  it,  old  woman."  • 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  he  never  had  any  bringing  up,  and  he 
means  to  get  into  some  kind  of  business." 

"What  kind  of  business  is  he  thanking  of,  Hannah?" 
inquired  the  deacon,  sitting  down  in  a  rocking-chair. 

"  Well,  Jacob,  I  don't  know  ;  but  I  am  afraid  its  lottery- 
tickets." 

"  Hannah,  you  don't  think  so  bad  of  Zeb  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  'em,  but  suppose  anything  that 
is  easy  is  best  for  him  ;  he's  been  living  here  going  on  eleven 
year,  and  hasn't  found  anything  to  set  upon.  I'm  sorry  he's 
so  set  after  Jane." 

"  He  is,  ain't  he  ?  they  ain't  any  kind  o'  match  for  one 
another.  But  it's  best  to  let  young  people  have  their  own 
way— we  did,  you  know,  Hannah." 

"  I  know  we  did,  Jacob,  but  you  wasn't  so  weakly  as 
Zebedee,  nor  so  set  in  your  ways  ;  I  am  afraid  he'll  never 
outgrow  his  complaints." 

"  Woll,  it's  no  use  talking  about  the  orderings  of  Provi 
dence,  Hannah  ;  but  I  can't  somehow  make  out  Zebedee  is 
made  for  Jane.  The  child's  company  is  coming  pretty 
soon." 

Grandpa  went  to  the  barn.  The  time  was  approaching 
for  the  juvenile  party  to  assemble.  Jeanie  had  made  herself 
ready,  the  chief  requisites  for  her  toilette  being  a  white 
dress,  her  neat  little  slippers,  and  papa's  parting  present — a 
bracelet  of  his  hair.  The  least  pretty  of  the  floral  wreaths 
was  chosen  for  her  head,  when  with  some  heart-fluttering, 
the  little  girl  awaited  the  advent  of  her  visitors. 


152  THE    TORCHLIGHT:    OR, 

Child-like,  she  ran  over  the  house,  before  dressing  ;  to 
see  her  flowers,  wondering  when  the  wagon  would  be  ready  ; 
and  if  the  girls  would  all  come.  Keturah  had  left  her 
baking  to  tell  her,  what  a  "  grand  team,"  the  old  man  was 
"tackling;"  and  she  must  come  back  to  supper,  by  five 
o'clock  ;  but  that  her  Aunt  Jane  had  forbidden  the  fiddle 
and  banjo  ;  and  that  she  was  to  be  sole  piper  on  the  comb. 

Jeanie's  face  was  left  by  Keturah,  glowing  with  fresh 
excitement,  and  as  she  stood  on  tip-toe  at  the  window,  her 
head  twined  with  the  rose  wreath,  her  little  elastic  form 
poised  upon  a  chair,  to  see  the  first  arrival,  Jane  Selden 
entered  the  room. 

The  grace  of  the  child's  attitude,  so  well  revealed  in  the 
simplicity  of  her  white  slip,  as  it  fell  off  from  her  shoulders  ; 
the  sweetness  of  expression,  beaming  in  the  expectant  look, 
that  greeted  her,  now  made  brilliant  by  emotion,  awakened 
fresh  admiration  for  her  protegee  and  pupil. 

But  the  lovely  smile  vanished,  as  she  met  the  affectionate, 
but  sad  look  of  the  now  solemn  Jane. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?" 

The  anxious  inquiry  was  answered  in  a  troubled  tone. 
"  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  that  after  all  your  pleasant  anticipa 
tions,  we  will  have  to  give  up  this  party." 

If  the  child  had  been  struck  down,  she  could  hardly  have 
been  more  surprised  or  shocked. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  she  again  asked.  "  They  will  be 
here  in  one  minute.  I  cannot  give  it  up." 

"  No,  my  love,  it  is  a  half-hour  yet  to  three  ;  Mr.  Zebedee 
is  ill ;  and  he  says  the  noise  of  children  will  distract 
him." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Jane,  I  cannot  do  this  for  him.  It  is  too 
late  !  It  is  too  late  1" 

"  You  can  have  your  drive  ;  and  tell  the  girls  the  case." 

"  Oh,  if  it  was   only  grandpa,  or  grandma,  or  yon,  or 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  153 

Keturah,  or  any  one  else  but  he,  who  hates  me  so  !     His 
back  will  ache  anyway.     It  always  does." 

"My  dear  Jeanie  1" 

"  You  know,  Aunt  Jane,  that  his  room  is  away  from  the 
parlor  and  the  lawn  ;  and  he  goes  to  bed  with  the  hens." 

"  You  do  not  speak  respectfully,  Jeanie — Mr.  Flint  has 
taken  cold,  and  it  has  settled  in  his  back  and  limbs.  He 
will  take  some  remedy  to-night,  and  feels  as  if  noise  would 
make  him  worse  ;  and  you  know,  if  he  should  really  become 
so,  we  should  regret  that  we  had  not  done  all  we  could  for 
him." 

Jeanie  was  still  insensible  to  Zebedee's  case  ;  and  warmly 
expostulated,  the  tears  rolling  plentifully  down  her  cheeks  ; 
on  the  impossibility  of  giving  up  her  party. 

"  My  dear,  you  do  not  show  the  spirit  I  wish  you  to.  I 
do  not  insist  upon  your  giving  up  your  birth-day  festival ; 
not  knowing  that  Mr.  Flint  can  be  made  seriously  worse  by 
it.  Yet  it  is  possible  that  any  discomposure  would  result 
in  fever — therefore  I  will  leave  the  matter  for  you  to  decide 
yourself — and  hope  you  will  cast  out  of  your  mind  selfish 
considerations  and  prejudice,  against  the  one  you  will 
oblige  or  disoblige,  and  remember  the  golden  rule  which 
should  govern  your  actions." 

.With  this  admonition,  Jane  Selden  left  Jeanie,  giving 
her  a  kiss  of  sympathy — assuring  her,  that  if  she  still 
determined  to  entertain  the  children  after  their  return  from 
their  excursion,  she  would  do  all  she  could  to  make  them 
happy. 

Jane  went  below  to  prepare  a  powder  for  Zebedee,  who 
had  taken  to  his  room  ;  leaving  Jeanie  with  her  face  buried 
in  the  bed.  A  moment  had  scarcely  elapsed,  before 
Keturah  entered  ;  hers  red  with  wrath,  followed  by 
Vulcan,  who  bounded  after  her,  his  ears  pricked  up,  to  know 
the  cause  of  the  excitement. 

1*  V 


I  ~>-i  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"Well,  I'll  be  blowed,  if  this  aiii't  the  prettiest  doings 
that  old  fox  has  been  guilty  of  !  If  he  can't  come  the 
wool  over  Miss  Jane,  there's  no  hopper-grasses  in  Jordan. 
But  I  tell  you  Miss  Jinny  Miller,  if  you  give  up  this  party 
for  that  old  herring,  I'll  be  salted  down  with  him  till  trump 
day.  Hold  up  your  head,  small-hop,  and  tell  me,  Miss  Sober 
sides,  in  what  part  is  Mr.  Flint  failin'  ?" 

"  In  his  back,  and  sides,  and  all  his  joints,"  said  Jeanie, 
pursing  up  her  pretty  mouth,  till  it  made  Keturah  laugh  to 
see  how  solemn  it  looked. 

"  Blame  his  back  and  sides  !  I  've  got  a  bowl  of  smart- 
weed  stewin'  for  'em  now.  He  ought  to  be  on  a  gridiron, 
the  aggravatin'  old  possum.  Think  of  the  provisions  we've 
got  ready  !  I  wonder  if  all  that 's  invited  has  got  to  be  put 
a  stop  to.  Its  plaguy  inhospertal  I  I  was  to  be  musi- 
cianer  too.  Now  Miss,  which  is  it  ?  death  or  life  to  Mr. 
Flint's  joints  ?" 

Jeanie  in  spite  of  her  tears,  burst  into  a  laugh,  as 
Keturah  enforced  her  remarks  by  assuming  a  bent  position 
peculiar  to  Zebedee,  when  he  was  complaining  ;  but  she  soon 
grew  dejected. 

"  I  will  go,"  she  replied  ;  "  and  see  what  grandpa  and 
grandma  say."  With  her  pretty  face,  solemnized,  she  met 
the  former  coming  in  from  the  barn  ;  catching  him  by  the 
hand,  she  told  him  her  perplexing  situation. 

Grandpa's  reply  was  short,  but  comforting.  "Zeb,  is 
always  grunting — you'd  better  have  the  party.  Pretty 
business !  pretty  business  !  he  shan't  break  it  up."  She 
flew  with  a  lighter  heart  to  grandma,  whose  decision  was  : 
"  The  little  dear  "  shouldn't  be  disappointed — that  "  Zebedee 
ought  to  have  a  good  dose  of  catnip." 

Jeanie's  mind  was  about  being  biased  by  their  remarks  ; 
but  passing  Zebedee's  door  she  heard  him  groan  ;  while  he 
muttered  to  her  aunt : 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  155 

"  You  doii't  care  if  these  young-ones  do  kill  me  ;  and  I 
spose  it  ain't  much  matter  how  soon  there  is  an  end  put  to 
me — living  as  we  do,  Jane  ;  and  I  in  no  kind  of  business. 
If  we  was  settled,  it  would  be  different.  I  am  at  this 
minute,  in  all  manner  of  acute  agonies." 

"  Aunt  Jane,"  came  in  a  whisper  through  the  doorway. 
The  latch  was  gently  lifted,  when  Jeanie  saw  a  grey  bundle 
done  up  in  a  large  easy-chair,  tied  at  the  top  with  a  calves- 
head  night-cap,  under  which  was  set  a  pair  of  swelled 
blood-shot  eyes.  The  whole  expression  was  watery. 

On  the  end  of  the  bundle,  suspended  a  pair  of  legs,  the 
feet  of  which  found  lodgment  on  a  junk  bottle.  They 
were  being  parboiled. 

Aunt  Jane  stood  opposite  the  object,  cup  in  hand,  with  a 
spoon  in  the  middle.  It  was  evident  that  it  would  not  take 
the  medicine. 

"  My  love  ?"  said  Aunt  Jane,  inquiringly,  at  the  door. 

"  How  is  he  ?" 

"Bad,  with  cold  in  the  head." 

"What  does  the  child  want?  I  do  hope  the  house  is 
going  to  be  kept  quiet — without  any  rackets  !" 

Jeanie  went  away. 

"  Your  medicine  is  ready,"  said  Jane,  for  the  fifth  time.   - 

"  I  wish,  Jane,  there  was  anybody  that  had  any  patience 
with  me.  Think  how  long  I've  waited  for  you,  Jane." 

At  this  crisis,  Keturah  came  in,  with  a  half  yard  of 
external  irritation,  and  seeing  the  situation  of  Miss  Jane 
with  the  cup,  and  the  immovability  of  the  grey  bundle,  took 
the  crockery  from  the  hand  of  the  former,  and  approaching 
all  that  was  visible  of  the  bachelor,  said,  moving  the  spoon 
in  the  thick  mixture,  with  characteristic  energy  : 

"  Mr.  Flint,  there's  no  time  to  dally  ;  make  an  opening, 
and  prepare  lively  for  your  smart-weed  1" 

Zebedee  never  resisted  his  decisive  nurse.     He  felt  that 


156  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

from  her  there  was  no  appeal.  With  a  slight  convulsion, 
the  victim  obeyed. 

"  Down  with  it — now  wipe  your  ugly  mouth,  and  settle 
yourself — there's  no  use  gasping  like  a  pizened  toad." 

Jane  was  relieved  ;  the  medicine  which  she  had  coaxed 
the  bachelor  for  an  hour  to  take,  was  swallowed,  when  he 
went  back  into  a  heap,  muttering  inside  awful  language 
about  Keturah  Sprunt. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Jeanie  was  trying  to  make  up  her  mind 
to  do  what  was  right.  But  if  she*  gave  up  the  party,  besides 
her  own  disappointment  and  mortification,  there  was  that  of 
the  girls,  and  the  rage  of  Keturah. 

She  remembered  her  aunt's  advice,  bidding  her  decide 
without  selfish  motives,  and  without  prejudice.  She  treas 
ured  the  precepts  of  her  dear  father,  and  the  Christian 
principles  she  had  vowed  in  her  heart,  and  to  her  God, 
should  form  the  groundwork  of  her  character  ;  and  slowly 
came  over  her  mind,  the  beauty  and  loveliness  of  a  self-deny 
ing  spirit.  Could  not  she,  young  as  she  was,  commence  the 
work  of  reformation  in  her  own  heart,  and  make  a  sacrifice 
to  do  good  to  one  who  would  be  ungrateful  for  the  kindness  ? 
She  looked  at  her  party  attire,  at  the  decorations  of  her 
room,  at  the  flower-wreathed  seats  on  the  lawn,  and 
pictured  the  glad  faces,  now  on  the  way,  she  was  to  cloud 
with  disappointment,  and  darken,  perhaps,  with  anger  and 
mortification.  Hard  was  the  struggle  in  the  breast  of  the 
generous  child,  to  cause  all  this  reverse  of  feeling,  to  gratify 
what  she  believed  the  unreasonable  whims  of  a  cross  man, 
who  had  never  regarded  her  but  with  dislike  and  prejudice. 

More  than  twice,  or  thrice,  she  clasped  her  little  fast-beat 
ing  heart,  while  she  exclaimed,  "I  cannot — I  cannot  for 
him!"  Then  stilling  her  emotions,  calming  them  with  a 
strong-willed  effort,  she  reasoned  (unconsciously)  clearly  as 
might  an  older  head,  concluding  that  it  was  as  painful  for 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  157 

the  disagreeable  to  suffer,  as  for  the  most  patient  and  lovely, 
whose  sweet-forced  smiles,  and  grateful  words,  repay  for  the 
sacrifice  of  time  and  pleasure.  Was  it  not,  therefore,  selfish 
to  look  for  payment  in  doing  good  ?  was  it  not  sufficient  that 
it  was  the  command  of  God,  and  consistent  with  a  noble 
spirit — such  as  actuated  the  Good  Samaritan,  when  he  went 
about  healing  the  sick,  feeding  the  hungry,  and  clothing  the 
naked  ?  A  half  hour's  reflection  softened  the  child's  bitter 
ness  towards  him,  whom  she  knew  had  not  reluctantly  occa 
sioned  her  sorrow,  causing  her  to  resolve  to  conquer  her 
rebellious  feelings,  and  to  be  generous  towards  her  enemy. 

Light,  silvery  and  radiant,  softly  gleamed  through  the 
clouds  that  had  enwrapped  her.  She  felt  the  sweet  con 
sciousness  of  a  noble  victory. 

Jeanie  no  longer  wavered  ;  she  had  decided  to  dismiss  her 
company  on  their  arrival,  though  not  without  giving  them 
the  promised  drive.  She  ran  to  Keturah,  to  tell  her  of  her 
decision,  and  found  the  latter  in  the  pantry,  performing  a 
popular  air  on  her  horn-toothed  instrument. 

"Hush  !"  said  Jeanie,  coming  softly  towards  her.  "You 
know  the  house  must  be  kept  still — Mr.  Flint  is  so  sick." 

"  Cock-a-doodle-do  1  How  do  you  think  you'll  dance 
without  a  fiddler  ?  Don't  be  skeered  about  that  pair  of 
joggle-sticks  in  t'other  room.  I'll  fix  him  off  for  you  after  a 
while.  He's  goin'  through  a  spell  of  contrary  friction, 
now  ;  when  that's  over,  I'll  make  him  easy  as  a  pancake, 
with  a  leetle  grain  of  laudanum.  Don't  open  your  eyes  so, 
you  chicken,  he's  only  got  the  pip  ;  but  you  know  he  must 
be  '  humored,'  and  that's  the  way  I  do  it.  Your  Aunt  Jane 
WJ11  spoil  that  man,  there's  no  mistake,  with  her  sugar-and- 
water  ways.  Leave  him  to  me,  and  I'll  pepper  him  till  I'll 
warrant  he'll  find  his  legs.  If  there's  anything  that  undoes 
me,  it  is  to  see  a  man  of  natural  parts  so  weakened." 

Keturah  commenced  on  the  comb. 


1 58  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"But  I  have  concluded  not  to  have  the  party,  Ketu- 
rah." 

"  That's  just  as  I  expected — your  Aunt  Jane  will  make 
you  over,  and  Mr.  Flint  will  adopt  you — shouldn't  wonder, 
after  he  and  Miss  Jane  Flint  get  settled.  Which  on  you  is 
goin'  to  set  up  with  him  ?  When  you  get  tired,  please  call 
rne.  I  '11  keep  him  from  drowsing.  I  tell  you  Jinny 
Miller,  this  aggravative  porcupine  ain't  soft.  He  knows 
what  he  's  about.  He  ain't  out  of  his  head.  But  go  along, 
I'm  glad  you  ain't  goin  to  have  the  party — such  a  ransack 
ing  as  there'd  be  from  garret  to  sullar.  Shucks  1  didn't  I 
jallop  him." 

The  comb  sent  forth  louder  shrieks. 

The  juvenile  assemblage  were  now  coming  over  the 
threshold,  while  Jeanie  held  her  hand  to  no  purpose,  over 
little  Mink's  mouth,  who  barked  as  if  each  arrival  needed 
his  especial  announcement :  the  business  performed,  he 
went  back  to  the  door-mat  quiet  as  a  caterpillar,  which  he 
much  resembled,  when  curled  up. 

Mink  was  not  remarkable  for  versatility  of  talent,  but  the 
one  he  had  was  faithfully  improved. 

At  each  fresh  bark,  the  bachelor  groaned  anew,  knowing 
that  it  counted  another  child. 

Every  eye  was  on  Jeanie's  pensive  face.  In  one  general 
cry,  came  the  well  worn  query,  while  many  of  the  little 
party  clasped  the  neck,  and  kissed  their  little  favorite. 

Zebedee  was  now  wild  with  excitement,  hearing  the 
distant  murmur  of  young  voices.  Jeanie  feeling  conscious 
of  his  misery,  conquered  her  timidity,  and  performed  the 
unpleasant  duty  devolving  upon  her. 

Such  a  time  of  indignation,  lamentation  and  suppressed 
grief  was  never  before  witnessed,  or  gone  through  with  at 
the  farm.  Still  with  few  exceptions  (such  went  home 
mad)  Jeanie  received  both  caresses  and  condolence  ;  and 


THROUGH  THE   WOOD.  159 

many  a  little  generous  heart  in  the  group,  felt  that  she  who 
had  dismissed  them,  was  the  greatest  sufferer. 

The  drive  was  enjoyed,  and  the  return  of  Jeanie  made 
glad  by  the  arrival  of  her  brother. 

During  the  last  four  years,  the  tall  boy  had  become  a 
man  in  appearance.  It  was  hard  for  the  little  girl  to 
believe  that  he  was  not  handsome. 

The  first  evening  they  spent  together,  had  not  been  a 
merry  one,  as  she  had  anticipated,  but  it  passed  happily. 
She  arose  early,  to  inquire  for  the  health  of  Mr.  Flint. 
Keturah  said  that  she  saw  him  in  the  porch  by  daylight, 
with  his  fish-pole,  and  "  guessed  he  was  recruterin." 

Jeanie  ran  to  her  aunt  for  confirmation  of  the  statement, 
who  could  not  believe,  Cousin  Zebedee  could  be  so  impru 
dent.  But  his  room  bore  evidence  of  his  desertion  ;  and  on 
looking  from  the  same  window,  where  she  had  watched  in 
her  party  dress,  for  her  visitors,  she  saw  buried  to  the  ears 
in  sheep's  grey,  sitting  on  a  log,  the  invalid  slowly  drawing 
up  what  looked  in  the  distance  to  be  a  pumpkin  seed. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?"  said  Keturah.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you  he  warn't  out  of  his  head — if  his  head  warn't  out  of 
him  ?  He's  one  of  'em." 

"It  is  all  the  same,"  said  Arthur,  looking  at  Jeanie's 
serious  face.  "  Your  motives  were  good,  if  your  compas 
sion  was  thrown  away." 

Sunlight  gilded  the  face  of  the  little  girl,  as  she  bounded 
out  the  doorway,  and  off  in  the  morning  brightness,  to 
show  her  brother  her  beautiful  "  river "  in  the  woods.  It 
was  above  the  spot  where  Zebedee  fished,  where  she  loved 
to  wander — tracing  the  stream  far  up  among  the  hills, 
through  a  wild  pathway,  where  glittering  stones  lay  embed 
ded  ;  and  tiny  fish  sported  in  undisturbed  security. 

It  was  the  most  attractive  sight,  that  greeted  her  eyes,  when 
she  first  came  a  little  stranger  to  the  farm,  an  impression 


100  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

never  worn  away:  and  blind  to  the  beautiful,  insensible  to  all 
delicious  sounds,  was  the  wanderer,  who  could  not  like  little 
Jeanie  leap  from  stone  to  stone,  over  this  silvery,  foaming, 
gushing  pathway.  Even  now  we  see  this  laughing  brook 
among  the  hills,  and  a  child  again,  sure  of  a  foothold  on  a 
mossy  stone,  splash  into  the  clear  sweet  current,  ankle  deep 
into  a  pile  of  bubbling  spray,  each  crystal  drop  bright  as  a 
poet's  Helicon.  Laughing  at  the  miss-step  we  bound  to  the 
next,  scaring  away  the  little  shiners,  and  tread  again  the 
veined  marble  that  glitters  like  frost  work  in  the  stream,  a 
rough  but  princely  pathway.  The  merry  little  brook  cares 
not  a  whit,  but  dances  on,  sparkling  over  the  rocks,  as  if  it 
were  mad  with  its  own  performance,  and  meant  to  make  its 
usual  noise  about  it. 

A  crazy  thing  it  was,  and  is  ;  for  Jeanie's  Meander  is  no 
fancy  sketch.  Embossed  in  flowers  of  blue  and  crimson,  it 
flows  still  on,  singing  its  never  ceasing  summer  song,  and 
gaily  as  when  with  the  wood  choristers,  it  awoke  our  child 
heroine  from  her  morning  slumber,  it  now  dances  blithely 
among  the  Berkshire  hills,  to  the  tune  of  its  own  rich 
music. 

Jeanie  saw  it  from  her  chamber  window.  It  was  awake 
before  the  birds,  even  before  the  old  hills,  through  which  it 
gurgled,  had  put  on  their  golden  veils  ;  even  with  the  night 
wind's  whisperings,  it  was  leaping  and  singing  in  the  dark 
ness — catching,  through  the  willow  branches  that  sought  its 
earliest  kiss,  the  star-gleams  revealing  its  beauty,  and  never 
wearied,  the  sunlight  found  it  still  rushing,  flashing,  bubbling 
— struggling  between  and  leaping  over  its  tiny  rocks,  until 
in  million  opal  drops,  it  dashed  over  a  bolder  ledge. 

Near  its  source,  Jeanie  roved  with  Arthur,  stopping  to 
rest  in  a  deep  coveft,  to  listen  to  the  morning  birds,  and 
look  at  the  rich  landscape  about  them,  on  which  every  shade 
of  green  was  painted. 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  161 

"  Why  do  you  like  to  come  here  so  well,  Jeanie  ?  one 
would  thiiik  this  mighty  river,  was  full  of  golden  sands." 

"But  if  there  are  not  golden  sands,  there  are  here  a 
million  brighter  and  prettier  things.  Hark  !  hear  that 
woodpecker  hammering  !" 

"  Yes,  the  little  mechanic  !  but  I  hear  a  noise  that  is  louder 
— the  rail-car  thundering  away  among  the  hills — it  sounds 
like,  the  rush  of  a  fall.  How  fat  and  lazy  the  cows  look 
trying  to  see  their  huge  noses  in  the  water.  Ain't  you 
afraid  of  them  ?" 

"  Afraid  of  cows  !  good  old  souls  !  no  I  love  them — old 
humdrum  poky  things — chewing  away  from  morning  till 
night.  Don't  dumb  animals  seem  to  you  like  people  ?" 

"  Yes:  I  saw  a  brood  of  turkeys  this  morning  skulking 
through  the  high  grass,  looking,  I  fancied,  like  some  secret 
order,  as  they  kept  fellowship.  They  made  as  they  went 
along,  a  kind  of  sorrowful  whistle,  solemnly  mysterious  and 
sentimental,  as  if  they  held  themselves  bound  to  make  no 
revelations,  without  a  masonic  sign." 

"  Was  the  procession  a  long  one  ?"  laughed  Jeanie. 

"  Not  very — a  couple  of  guinea  hens  followed  in 
speckled  mantles,  but  the  turkey  order  were  too  stiff  for 
their  company,  and  so  they  waddled  off  canting  their  own 
creed.  I  could  not  but  fancy  they  enjoyed  the  impudence 
of  a  straddling  peacock,  who  scattered  the  whole  black 
society,  by  a  show  of  his  Argus-eyes.  Between  you  and  I, 
Jeanie,  it  is  my  opinion,  that  the  old  fellow  considers 
himself  slaveholder  of  the  whole  troop,  and  would  without 
any  qualms  of  conscience  turn  their  desultory  pickings  to 
his  own  individual  account." 

"  Keturah  says  :  '  It's  curious  to  se,e  how  critters  are  like 
grown  folks.' " 

"  Here's  a  petrified  bird's  claw  or  something  like  it.  I 
must  send  it  to  Grandma  Oastleman." 


i62  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Does  she  like  sucli — gawky  things  ?"  said  Jeanie,  puzzled 
for  an  adjective. 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  reason  she  was  so  fond  of  me — you 
don't  remember  Castlemont  ?" 

"  You  must  have  been  happy  there." 

"  It  was  a  beautiful"  place,  but  it  will  probably  never  be 
our  home  again.  Would  you  be  jealous  if  you  knew  that 
there  was  a  sweet  girl  that  I  love  beside  you,  Jeanie." 

"  Oh  no,  then  I  should  have  a  sister.  But  we  will  have 
a  home  before  then.  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you.  I  am 
going  to  see  mamma  next  winter,  and  I  know,"  the  tears  now 
came  into  Jeanie's  eyes,  "  that  I  can  make  her  love  papa." 

The  arms  of  Jeanie  wound  as  of  old  about  her  brother's 
neck,  while  she  plead  earnestly  for  his  influence.  How 
could  he,  who  had  witnessed  so  much  sorrow  and  misery, 
wish  to  unite  again  those  separated. 

Silence  was  Jeanie's  only  answer  ;  but  with  his  lips  pressed 
to  the  brow  that  lay  on  his  shoulder,  Arthur  Miller  again 
vowed  to  do  all  that  lay  in  his  power,  for  the  happiness  of 
his  beloved  sister.  "I  am  glad,"  said  he,  "that  you  know 
of  the  separation  of  our  parents,  but  my  dear  Jeanie,  you 
will,  I  fear,  find  the  task  which  you  undertake,  no  light  one. 
It  is  not  easy  to  mingle  oil  and  water." 

"  Don't — don't,"  said  the  little  girl  with  fervor,  "  take 
away  my  hope  ;  it  is  all  I  live  for.  I  am  amused  and 
happy  because  I  cannot  be  miserable  long  ;  and  I  am  so 
silly  as  to  laugh  at  everything  funny  ;  and  be  pleased 
with  every  thing  beautiful  ;  but  I  do,  Arthur  sometimes  in 
the  midst  of  all  my  happiness,  feel  very  badly."  She  burst 
into  tears. 

"  My  little  sister,  be  courageous — be  brave.  Trust  to 
the  great  Pilot.  He  will  guide  you  through  the  billows. 
Did  you  never  note  in  the  morning,  the  light  of  the  sky 
grow  dim,  as  the  silvery  fleece  »you  watched,  passed  like 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  183 

wavelets  over  the  sea  of  blue,  and  in  its  place  a  black  swell 
appear,  as  if  drifting  towards  you  ?  Though  you  might 
sadden  with  the  vision,  you  did  not  doubt  that  the  sun  was 
behind  the  cloud.  So  you  must  believe  and  trust :  the 
azure  will,  I  believe,  succeed  the  sable  in  your  sky,  and  the 
light  beyond  be  full  of  glory.  In  my  shortsightedness,  I 
would  have  had  your  home  one  of  undimmed  light  and 
beauty.  From  the  hour  you  were  born,  you  were  to  me 
the  darling  of  my  boyhood.  God  only  knows  how  I  have 
cherished  your  memory  in  my  absence  from  you  ;  but  my 
sweet  Jeanie,  it  has  been  with  fear  and  trembling,  for  a 
nature  so  ardent,  so  willful,  so  passionate.  How  then  can  I 
be  grateful  enough,  for  the  change  that  I  see  wrought  in 
you  ;  for  the  influences  that  have  borne  upon  your  charac 
ter  ;  such  as  have  taught  you  to  control  and  subdue  your 
imperious  will  ;  and  to  forget  yourself  in  your  duty  to 
others  ?  We  must  try  to  see  the  finger  of  God  in  all  this. 
But  for  the  trials  of  your  childhood,  you  might  never 
have  known  the  need  of  faith  or  repentance.  I  see  that 
you  strive  to  conquer  selfishness — you  have  made  a  good 
beginning  in  the  battle  with  your  foes." 

In  a  soft  agitated  whisper,  she  said  : — 

"  Don't  think  I  am  so  much  improved,  I  find  it  very  hard 
to  do  or  feel  right.  I  wish  you  could  be  always  with  me 
to  teach  me." 

"  He  who  can  give  you  the  earnest  of  His  spirit,  can  make 
you  pure  in  His  sight.  I  must  necessarily  leave  you,  but  it 
will  be  with  a  sweet  feeling  of  confidence  that  you  will  not 
rest  day  or  night,  until  you  can  say,  '  I  am  the  Lord's,  let 
Him  do  as  seemeth  to  Him  good.' " 

"  I  am  too  proud  ever  to  be  a  Christian.  Why  do  you 
laugh,  Arthur  ?' 

"  At  your  inconsistency,  Jeanie.  Believe  that  you  are  not 
naturally  good,  and  your  pride  will  not  hurt  you.  St.  Paul 


104  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

preached  in  '  weakness,  and  in  fear,  and  much  trembling.' 
I  am  glad  that  you  feel  the  need  of  humility,  it  is  one  of 
the  sweetest  of  Christian  graces." 

Wandering  towards  home,  Arthur  and  Jeanie  reached  an 
eminence,  which  in  the  morning  sun  was  refreshing  to  look 
upon.  Around  them  rose  an  ocean  of  swelling  acclivities, 
far  greener  than  the  emerald  waves  they  imaged,  as  they 
lay  piled  in  their  grandeur  ;  and  more  sublime,  for  like  the 
great  Eternal  who  formed  them,  they  were  immovable  and 
everlasting. 

To  the  long  closeted  student,  the  air  and  verdure  of  the 
beautiful  hills  among  which  he  was  born,  were  a  luxury. 
The  brother  and  sister  returned  ;  their  faces  glowing  with 
the  exercise  enjoyed,  though  a  cast  of  pensiveness  shaded 
the  brow  of  the  latter. 

It  was  no  detraction  from  the  loveliness  of  Jeanie's  face, 
that  thought  had  fixed  its  gentle  impress  there. 

Breakfast  awaited  the  ramblers,  bringing  joyfully  together 
once  more,  at  their  hospitable  table,  the  venerable  couple, 
and  their  two  beloved  grandchildren  (as  they  deemed 
them).  It  was  a  meal  partaken  with  emotions  of  silent 
gratitude  by  the  old  people,  and  seemingly  with  rich  zest  by 
the  late  afflicted  invalid. 

Keturah  sat  in  the  door-way,  breaking  a  horn  comb  (her 
dead  lyre),  and  "  was  happy,"  as  she  expressed  herself,  "  to 
see  that  Mr.  Flint  was  able  to  relish  his  ham  and  eggs." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  165 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

/CLOSETED  in  the  chamber  of  a  city  hotel,  Mr.  Miller 
V_y  and  Mr.  Hamlin  counselled  together.  The  two  were 
widely  contrasted.  The  plain  unassuming  man  wore  now 
a  dejected  countenance,  his  sunken  eyes  and  paleness  of  cheek 
indicating  feeble  health.  Slow  in  speech,  reflective  hi  his 
moods,  open  and  frank  as  a  child  in  his  confidence,  he 
differed  from  the  man  of  physical  and  mental  strength, 
whose  every  movement  and  expression  spoke  energy,  decis 
ion  and  ardor. 

While  abroad  they  had  met,  and  though  the  difference  of 
fifteen  years  existed  in  their  ages,  they  became  intimate, 
and  Mr.  Hamlin  the  confidential  friend  and  adviser  of  the 
elder. 

Years  had  not  alone  made  them  to  differ  ;  and  yet 
an  invisible  chord  linked  them.  Though  comparatively 
young,  Mr.  Hamlin  was  one  who  had  drunk  life's  spiciest 
and  most  sparkling  cup  to  satiety,  and  now  thirsted  for  its 
limpid  waters.  The  mind  of  Mr.  Miller  was  to  him  as  that 
of  a  child — and  now  simple  and  earnest  was  the  relation 
of  his  woes.  The  betrayal  of  deep  emotion,  which  he  often 
exhibited,  when  he  spoke  of  his  wife  and  child,  in  another, 
he  would  have  viewed  as  weakness  ;  but  with  genuine 
sympathy  he  listened  to  the  tale,  feeling  that  the  heart 
of  the  wounded  had  been  laid  bare  to  him,  as  an  unrolled 
sheet,  and  that  its  surface  was  pure  as  the  sky. 

With  his  intuitive  knowledge  of   the   workings   of  the 


166  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

soul,  and  keen  insight  into  character,  he  saw  that  Mr. 
Miller  had  been  the  dupe  of  artifice  ;  and  that  the  experi 
ence  of  five  and  forty  years,  had  not  taught  him  that 
worldly  wisdom,  which  penetrates  the  secret  channels,  and 
opens  the  hidden  springs  of  the  human  mind  ;  though  in  his 
pecuniary  transactions  with  men,  he  had  learned  mechani 
cally  and  systematically,  the  way  that  leads  to  fortune. 
Mr.  Hamlin  also  saw  that  while  heart-wearied,  declining  in 
health,  with  perverted  vision,  that  he  was  incapable  of 
vindicating  the  case  he  at  times  resolved  to  sustain — that 
of  wrong  inflicted  by  a  wife,  from  whom  he  would  be 
divorced. 

Till  a  late  hour  the  friends  conversed,  when  Mr.  Hamlin 
became  earnest  in  his  efforts  to  dissuade  Mr.  Miller  from 
his  projected  movement. 

"  I  am  not  unacquainted  with  Mrs.  Miller,"  he  continued. 
"  I  believe  her  to  be  a  woman  of  no  ordinary  character. 
Her  greatest  faults  arise  from  her  education,  by  an  unprin 
cipled,  weak  mother.  Her  passion  for  admiration,  and  her 
utter  disregard  of  truth,"  Mr.  Hamlin  spoke  with  severity 
and  harsh  judgment,  "  comport  with  the  whole  falsity  of 
her  life,  which  I  know  to  be,  one  acting  lie.  Still,  sir,  I 
believe  her  to  be  too  proud  to  compromise  her  reputatu  n  ; 
and  to  yield  her  heart  to  an  inferior,  would  be  as  unlikely 
in  her,  as  the  falling  of  a  star.  You  may  think,"  he  spoke 
with  emphasis,  "  my  comparison  too  elevated  for  its  object  ; 
but  Mrs.  Miller  is  a  woman  of  brilliant  intellect,  with  a 
heart  capable  of  intense  emotion  ;  and  withal  accomplished. 
She  is  not  only  capable  of  inspiring,  but  of  being  herself 
enslaved  by  passion.  But  mark  me,  she  will  never  sacrifice 
herself.  The  man  she  loves  must  be  her  superior.  She  has 
none  such  in  her  wake." 

"  What  hope  is  there  then  for  me  in  a  reunion  with 
her  r 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  167 

Mr.  Miller  handed  a  letter,  postmarked  New  Orleans. 
Mr.  Hamlin  opened  it,  and  read  : 

"  Mr.  Launcelot  Lawrence  wishes  to  be  informed  whether  the  Hon. 
A.  M.  intends  to  prefer  any  claims  upon  Mrs.  Ex-Miller  by  reason  of 
any  prior  right  or  title ;  if  so,  Mr.  Lawrence  would  like  the  matter 
settled  witfiout  delay,  as  in  case  of  her  being  unclaimed  during  the 
period  of  three  months  ensuing,  he  may  possibly  accept  of  such 
terms  as  she,  in  her  affectionate  regard  for  him,  may  be  pleased  to 
make." 

With  a  sneer,  Mr.  Hamlin  laid  down  the  note  after  peru 
sal,  half  irritated  that  Mr.  Miller  could  be  annoyed  by  a 
communication  from  such  a  source,  or  that  its  reception 
should  rouse  fresh  indignation  towards  his  wife. 

"  If  you  ralue  your  own  peace  of  mind,"  said  he,  "  or  the 
character  of  Mrs.  Miller,  throw  this  into  the  fire,  and  let 
your  suspicions  escape  with  the  smoke.  Mr  Lawrence  can 
give  you  no  trouble." 

Mr.  Miller  settled  into  his  usual  contemplative  mood,  from 
which  he  now  seldom  aroused. 

Silence  for  some  time  ensued.  It  was  now  advancing 
towards  the  hour  of  ten.  The  two  had  resorted  to  cigars 
and  the  evening  papers,  when  the  door  opened,  and  with 
precipitation  a  woman  entered,  followed  by  a  little  girl, 
neither  of  whom  were  at  first  recognized  by  the  gentle 
men. 

The  elder  was  not  bewildered  when  he  heard  the  voice  of 
Keturah  Sprunt  in  loud  exclamation,  as  she  threw  herself  on 
a  seat,  with  seeming  desperation. 

"  Well,  if  I  hain't  been  through  Babel,  besides  the  Dark 
Ages,  to  get  this  child  along,  'cause  she  was  possessed  to 
come  ;  but  it's  no  kind  o'  compersation  to  see  this  city  in  all 
its  corruptions,  to  go  through  such  vile  treatment  from  rob 
bers  and  'sassins  on  the  way.  But,  Mr.  Miller,  I've  brung 


168  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

her,  in  all  her  tears  and  innocence,  and  if  you  ain't  despisa- 
ble,  you'll  see  that  we  have  something  to  eat,  and  ain't  out 
raged.  I  knocked  down  t\vo  Injuns,  besides  niggers  and 
slaveholders,  who  wanted  to  get  our  baggage  ;  I  was  all- 
fired  glad  we  didn't  bring  any,  and  before  I  get  a  wink  o' 
sleep,  I  want  to  be  convinced  that  this  building  ^s  bolted, 
and  won't  be  set  a-blazin'." 

While  Keturah  was  pouring  forth  her  account  of  the 
treatment  she  had  received  in  travelling,  and  on  her  arrival 
at  the  hotel  (which  she  still  continued  for  the  benefit  of  Mr. 
Hamliu),  Jeanie  had  crept  to  her  surprised  father's  knee, 
where  she  sunk,  and  laid  her  head,  crying  : 

"  Don't  send  me  away — I  have  come  to  see  you,  though 
Aunt  Jane  forbade  it.  I  can't  tell  you  all,  I  am  so  tired. 
Keturah  didn't  know  the  way,  and  went  to  a  great  many 
houses  ;  but  your  dreadful  letter  to  Aunt  Jane  brought  me, 
and  I  have  come  to  say  that  I  cannot  be  your  child  any 
more,  if  you  treat  poor  mamma  so.  I  know  what  divorce 
means,  and  I  ran  away  by  myself,  only  Keturah  followed  me 
— and  I'm  so  glad  we  are  here,  we  had  such  a  time." 

The  little  girl  now  choked  with  sobs — the  tears  running 
down  her  face.  Her  father  could  only  hold  her  to  his  breast 
and  say,  "  Be  calm,  be  still,  my  child." 

"  That's  the  way  she's  lost  her  character  all  the  way  ;  and 
I  come  off  in  my  every-day  clothes.  I  was  so  mortified  with 
her,  and  she  so  distracted  like.  She'd  better  have  a  piece 
of  pie,  or  a  doughnut.  I  ain't  particular  what  I  has,  so  it's 
soon,  and  ain't  cooked  by  niggers  or  Irish." 

"  I  don't  wish  anything — only  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  papa, 
and  don't  please,  be  angry  with  me." 

The  attitude  of  the  graceful  little  figure  as  it  clung  to 
her  father's  form,  was  full  of  touching  eloquence.  Mr.  Ham- 
lin  gazed  upon  it,  as  if  rapt  with  some  beautiful  dream. 
Jeanie  looked  up,  for  the  first  time  seeing  him ;  tier  lip  treru- 


\ 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  169 

bling,  and  her  eyelashes  heavy  with  dropping  tears.  He 
knew  that  he  saw  the  dancing  child,  that  he  had  rescued 
from  the  troop  of  noisy  villagers. 

As  his  eyes  fastened  upon  hers,  the  recognition  was 
mutual.  She  was  now  in  her  fourteenth  year,  and  had  much 
changed  since  then.  Her  form  had  expanded  into  rounded 
loveliness,  but  to  his  eye  she  was  still  the  pantaletted  little 
girl,  whom  he  had  never  forgotten — a  vision  reminding  him 
of  one  more  beautiful. 

He  extended  his  hand.  With  a  shrinking,  half  fearful 
look,  she  said  : 

"  Have  you  come  to  help  divorce  poor  mamma  ?" 

"  No,  no — why  should  you  think  so  ?" 

"  He  wrote  Aunt  Jane  that  he  was  engaged  talking  with 
his  lawyer,  and  I  supposed  you  might  be  one." 

Mr.  Miller  had  rung  for  refreshment  for  the  travellers. 
Keturah  jumped  up,  and  snatched  it  from  the  hands  of  the 
servant,  her  countenance  betraying  satisfaction. 

"  I  hain't  one  grain  of  appetite,  but  if  I  knew  everything 
was  clean,  I  might  regale  some.  That  feller  that  went  out 
has  a  mighty  milk-and-molasses  complexion.  What's  his 
calling  ?" 

Jeanie  could  not  be  persuaded  to  taste  food,  and  vainly 
the  gentleman  attempted  to  comfort  her. 

As  she  confessed,  she  had  defied  the  commands  and 
entreaties  of  the  household,  who  opposed  her  leaving  (a  ]> 
ject  that  they  did  not  realize  that  she  would  fulfill)  ;  but 
after  hearing  the  announcement  that  her  father  was  intend 
ing  to  make  application  for  a  divorce  from  her  mother  (intel 
ligence  imparted  to  her  by  Zebedee),  with  fear  and  horror 
of  a  deed  so  dreadful,  in  her  estimation,  she  frantically 
resolved  to  seek  him. 

Fearing  it  was  too  late  to  prevent  the  departure  of  Jeanie, 
Keturah  surprised  the  household  by  rushing,  after  her — 


170  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

reaching  the  latter  just  in  time  to  go  with  her  on  her 
journey. 

The  reception  of  news  so  afflicting  to  the  child  (which 
she  realized  would  effectually  debar  the  reunion  of  her 
parents)  and  the  impulsive  departure  of  the  little  girl,  had 
not  occupied  fifteen  minutes  ;  but  now  that  the  excitement 
of  her  journey  was  over,  and  she  had  reached  her  father, 
fear  for  the  consequences  of  her  temerity,  added  to  her 
anxiety  about  the  separation,  caused  her  to  sink  in  terror 
upon  the  carpet :  hiding  her  face,  she  continued  to  weep. 

The  hour  of  eleven  found  the  young  traveller  wearied  ; 
all  present  were  Strenuous  that  she  should  go  immediately 
to  rest  ;  but  the  habitually  obedient  Jeanie  was  firm  in  her 
refusal,  while  she,  burst  forth  with  a  fresh  appeal  to  her 
father,  begging  him  not  do  anything  so  dreadful  as  the  act 
she  feared. 

AVith  decision,  Mr.  Miller  told  her  that  he  could  make 
no  pledge  of  his  word  to  that  effect ;  but  directed  her  tc 
obey  his  «ommands,  and  to  retire. 

The  child  was  immovable. 

"Unless  you  become  calm,  and  more  reasonable,"  said 
Mr.  Miller,  "  I  shall  be  obliged  to  separate  from  you  during 
your  stay." 

"  And  won't  you  say  you  did  not  mean  that  letter  ?" 

"  No,  Jeanie.  It  is  possible  that  I  may  seek  a  divorce 
from  your  mother." 

"Then,"  said  the  little  girl,  exposing  fully  her  tearful 
face,  "  then,  I  will  go  with  her  away,  too.  I  will  stay  by 
her  always,  wherever  she  is — I  will  love  you  no  more,  if  you 
will  not  live  with  dear  mamma." 

Mr.  Miller  pushed  her  gently  from  him  ;  and  walked  the 
room  with  his  head  bowed  on  his  breast.  At  the  moment, 
she  came  beside  Mr.  Hamlin.  Putting  her  hand  in  his,  she 
said  : 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  171 

"  Couldn't  you  love  my  dear  beautiful  mamma  ?  if  she  was 
your  wife,  would  you  be  so  cruel  ?" 

.  With  a  wild  sob,  the  wearied,  distracted,  child  tottered 
forward  as  she  spoke.  Mr.  Hamlin  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
Saying  nothing  for  one  moment,  he  held  the  little  pleader, 
then  removing  her,  said  : 

"  Jeanie  you  are  cruel  to  talk  to  your  father  so — go  to 
him  and  comfort  him."  *  • 

"  Mamma  has  nobody  to  love  her." 

Looking  at  her  father — seeing  him  still  walking,  she  went 
towards  him.  Keturah  now  sat  upright  hi  her  chair, 
asleep — her  head  coming  down  occasionally  with  a  break 
neck  jerk  upon  her  breast. 

"  Ring  that  bell,"  said  Mr.  Miller  addressing  her. 

While  the  aroused  sleeper  was  looking  in  vain  for  the 
article,  Mr.  Hamlin  performed  the  service. 

"  Go  to  bed,"  said  Mr.  Miller  now  sternly  to  Jeanie,  as 
the  servant  appeared.  She  dared  not  disobey. 

"  Good  night."    Mr.  Hamlin  extended  his  hand. 

"Will  you  be  my  friend — mamma's  friend?"  Jeanie 
looked  up  earnestly. 

"  If  you  will  promise  me  never  to  be  so  passionate  in 
your  language.  You  have  grieved  your  father.  Good 
night." 

"  May  I  not  kiss  you,  papa  ?" 

Mr.  Miller  sat  down,  drawing  Jeanie  towards  him.  "  Do. 
Do  you  think  this  is  honoring  your  father  ?" 

"  Oh  papa — I  feel  as  if  I  was  in  a  dark  wood,  as  if  my 
dear  parents  were  separated  by  long  lonely  paths  ;  and  all 
my  wandering  back  and  forth,  would  not  bring  them 
together,  and  it  makes  me  so  wretched,  that  I  cannot  do 
right  or  feel  right." 

"  Believe  that  God  is  in  all  our  paths.     Go  now,  Jeanie." 


172  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    on, 

She  went  with  Ketnrah  to  the  strange  room  ;  but  long 
hours  after,  while  she  lay  still  with  her  eyes  wide  open, 
looking  at  the  stars,  trying  to  pray — she  heard  her  father's 
footsteps  below,  still  walking. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  173 


CHAP  TEE  XVII. 

MR.  MILLER  had  had  a  sleepless  night.  Till  dawn 
he  paced  his  solitary  room,  unconscious  of  the 
hours  that  flitted  by.  In  those  moments  of  spirit  agony, 
he  felt  that  the  keenest,  most  piercing  darts,  which  like 
daggers  enter  the  soul,  to  the  human  eye  are  unrevealed — 
that  God  only  knoweth  the  heart's  bitterness. 

To  Him  "  the  beginning  and  the  end,"  who  had  loved  him 
since  time  was,  he  prayed  that  he  might  be  submissive  to 
His  chastisements,  and  bear  what  He  might  inflict.  Had  he 
not  been  saved,  he  asked  himself,  the  sin  of  idolatry  ?  arid 
his  child  from  the  love  of  the  world,  by  the  affliction  which 
uprooted  his  desire  to  continue  in  a  state  of  being,  made 
miserable  to  her  and  himself? 

Had  not  his  cup  been  replete  with  bitterness,  when 
disgrace,  like  a  blackened  pall,  covered  his  household  gods — 
when  he  had  been  scorned  in  private,  and  in  public  pointed 
at,  as  the  victim  of  domestic  strife — but  that  this  little 
one,  should  turn  to  ashes  the  expiring  embers  on  his  hearth 
stone,  by  reproaches  accusing  him  of  cruelty  towards  this 
once  passionately  loved  idol,  her  mother  ? 

Had  she  no  longer  an  earthly  altar  of  confidence,  to 
which  to  bend  her  knee — no  star  in  the  firmament  that 
canopied  her  youthful  hopes,  to  which  to  look,  saying,  "  Be 
thou  my  beacon — my  guide  through  life's  quicksands  ?" 
Must  her  sweet  child-dreams  be  turned  to  night-mare 
horrors,  while  clasping  her  little  heart,  she  cries  :  "I  have 


174  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

no  home  of  love  to  which  to  flee,  for  the  authors  of  my 
existence  have  girded  it  about  with  thorns  ;  and  for  no  sin 
of  my  own,  but  for  the  animosity  and  unchristian  warfare 
of  my  parents,  I  am  left  to  struggle  alone— henceforth  a 
wanderer."  Had  it  not  been  sorrow  deep  enough,  that  his 
childlike  trust  in  woman  had  been  crushed — the  flowers 
that  bloomed  in  the  garden  of  his  heart,  been  trampled 
upon,  their  sweetness  turned  to  the  bitterness  that  no  apple 
of  Sodom  ever  brought  to  the  lip  ;  but  that  he  must  poison 
the  pure  mind  of  his  guileless  child,  by  tales  of  a  mother's 
deceit  and  falsehood  ;  or  have  her  believe  him  a  fiend  in 
cruelty,  the  source  of  all  her  misery  ?  Must  there  be  no 
solace  for  her  bruised  spirit,  no  breast  on  which  in  faith,  to 
lay  her  aching  head — folding  her  little  arms  in  holy 
trust  ? 

A  quick  but  light  tap  was  heard  at  the  door.  He 
opened  it,  thinking  to  admit  his  child  ;  but  instead,  a 
shadowy  form  rushed  past  him — as  dead  leaves  might  on 
the  blast  of  autumn.  Perhaps  it  was  that  out  of  the 
antiquated  hat,  and  moth  eaten  tippet,  appeared  the  cadav 
erous  features  of  Mrs.  Castleman,  which  brought  to  mind 
the  shrivelled  emblems  of  decay,  and  in  the  beholder, 
deadened  all  thoughts  of  brightness. 

Declining  health  producing  feverish  action  of  the  brain, 
aggravated  the  despondency  of.  the  now  troubled  parent ; 
and  when  one,  from  whom  he  believed  he  had  for  ever 
parted,  came  with  her  well  remembered  beseeching  grin  into 
his  presence,  he  started  back,  as  If  the  ghost  of  all  evil 
had  appeared  before  him. 

Recovering  himself,  the  son-in-law  bowed  to  the  spectral 
figure — avoiding  the  three  little  ungloved  fingers  put  out,  to 
creep  like  bird-claws  over  his. 

"  I  heard  you  were  in  affliction,"  opened  the  whited 
sepulchre,  "  and  have  come  to  condole  with  you,  and  to  ask 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  175 

when  you  have  heard  from  our  boloved  Elinor.  Your  habi 
tation  hi  this  world-wilderness — so  barren  of  human  sympa 
thy,  is  a  contrast  to  the  lovely  hours  of  your  sojourn  at  my 
hospitable  home,  where  you  were  made  blissful  by  a  union 
with  my  sweet  child.  It  was  then  hardly  expected  that 
you  would  cast  her  off  to  the  biting  winds  of  Heaven,  and 
her  aged  parent  into  an  abyss  of  degrading  destitution." 

"Mrs.  Castleman" — 

"  Still  I  cherish  towards  you  a  forgiving  spirit,  and  I 
trust  a  godly  one,  for  I  know  that  '  he  who  troubleth  his 
own  house,  shall  inherit  the  wind,'  and  my  fleecy  garments, 
(the  widow  held  up  her  apparel)  cannot  stand  much  of  a 
breeze,  and  I  should  feel  reluctant  to  see  a  gown  Sister 
Sally  had  worn  for  forty  years,  making  cobwebs  in  the  sky. 
Yes,  son-in-law,  to  show  my  respect  for  you,  I  have  come 
with  a  petition,  for  your  contribution  towards  a  benevolent 
project  (the  widow  unfolded  a  sheet  of  paper)  drawn  up 
by  my  own  pen.  You  will  perceive  that  it  is  started  by  a 
number  of  respectable  destitute  widows,  of  whom  I  am  at 
the  head.  We  are  anxious  as  a  body,  four  of  us  compos 
ing  it  (Mr.  Miller  thought  that  it  would  take  more  of  such 
as  the  widow  presented),  to  keep  a  respectable  carriage, 
that  we  may  be  enabled  in  inclement  seasons  to  visit  the 
graves  of  our  lamented  relatives." 

"I  have  no  time  to  look  at  it,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  retreat 
ing.  "  I  do  not  approve  of  the  object." 

"  It  is  not  only,"  went  on  Mrs.  Castleman,  "  a  charitable, 
but  an  economical  institution,  besides  reminding  us  in  a 
respectful  manner,  of  the  equipage  in  which  we  rode  in  our 
youth,  but  it  smooths  the  pathway  to  the  grave,  and  saves 
(the  old  lady  showed  her  shoes)  the  expenditure  of  the 
sole." 

"  I  cannot  listen  to  you,  madam." 

"  Must  I  feel,  after  my  trembling  limbs  have  borne  me  to 


176 

your  door,  as  saith  tbe  poet,  that  I  am  to  be  thrust  forth  in 
a  pitiless  manner  ?  After  sheltering  you,  feeding  you — though 
you  was  never  a  great  eater — and,  as  it  were,  fleecing  you 
as  the  sheep  becomes  fat  and  woolly  in  the  fold  of  the  shep 
herd — giving  you  the  lamb  of  my  youthful  and  innocent 
widowhood,  the  only  hope  of  my  respected  Peter  ;  and  now 
you  will  not  cast  your  mite  into  the  Lord's  treasury,  that  I 
may  be  borne  respectably  to  my  husband's  grave  I  Am  I  a 
burden  to  you,  or  to  any  of  my  family  tree,  of  which  I  am 
a  lopping,  and  of  late  years  a  fruitless  branch  ?  Don't  I  go 
from  house  to  house  picking  up  crumbs,  and  like  a  female 
Lazarus,  don't  I  lick  their  dogs,  as  it  were,  to  pay  for  my 
board  ?" 

"  Madam  !  I  have  made  you  independent,  and  I  have  rea 
son  to  believe  that  you  receive  a  handsome  annuity." 

"  Does  my  right  hand  know  what  my  left  hand  doeth  ? 
and  do  you  think,  son-in-law,  that  your  paltry  pittance  will 
enable  me  to  ride  in  a  hearse  ?  Don't  I  go  about  in  an  hum 
ble  way,  showing  a  contrite  spirit,  for  the  disgrace  you  have 
brought  upon  my  family  ?  If  it  were  not  that  my  hairs 
were  numbered,  I  would  apply  for  public  relief.  Havu't 
you  taken  away  from  me  my  only  and  beloved  child,  and,  as 
it  were,  cast  her  into  a  den  of  lions." 

"  Madam  !"  said  Mr.  Miller,  becoming  exasperated,  "  are 
you  in  need  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  I  need  but  little  to  carry  me  to  my  lonely  grave. 
I  hope  you  will  see  that  I  am  laid  out  along  side  of  Peter — 
a  pine  coffin  will  do.  I  shall  leave  my  relics  for  some  of  the 
family  tree,  and  my  remains  to  the  town.  It  is  hard  for 
them  that  have  seen  better  days,  to  die  poor  and  des 
pised  "- 

The  widow  put  some  slits  of  darned  cambric  to  her  nose, 
which  she  blew  into  fragments,  rendering  the  whole  useless  for 
the  meanest  branr-li  of  her  relatives. 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  Ill 

"  Will  this  relieve  you  ?"  Mr.  Miller  handed  his  mother- 
in-law  a  fifty  dollar  note. 

At  this  moment,  Jeanie  came  with  her  gentle  footstep  into 
the  presence  of  her  father  and  grandmother.  With  the 
grace  of  a  fawn  she  approached  the  latter,  her  face  pale  and 
anxious,  looking  up  doubtingly  for  a  welcome. 

The  striking  resemblance  of  the  child  to  her  mother  at 
her  age,  together  with  her  salutation  to  her  father,  convinced 
the  old  lady  that  she  saw  her  grandchild.  Tucking  the  bill 
handed  her,  complacently  in  her  pocket  with  the  slit  cam 
bric,  she  ejaculated : 

"  Do  I  see  my  Elinor — my  little  Elinor  ?  You  sweet 
angel !  you  beautiful  cherub  !  come  to  your  grandmother's 
despised  old  bosom.  Don't  you  know  me  ?  or  have  you  been 
taught  to  consider  me  but  an  abigail  ?" 

Not  recognizing  the  frail,  attenuated  being,  whose  address 
had  embarrassed  the  child,  she  at  first  shrunk  from  an  object 
so  unattractive  ;  but  being  well  bred,  soon  put  forth  her 
hand  to  the  clasp  of  her  relative. 

With  a  shiver  of  horror,  Mr.  Miller  saw  the  contact  of 
the  two  beings  whom  it  had  been  his  aim  to  for  ever  sepa 
rate  ;  and  as  he  might  have  viewed  an  angel  child  unfurl  its 
white  wings  for  a  descent  to  fallen  spirits,  so  he  witnessed 
the  embrace  he  could  not  prevent. 

"  How  sweet  it  is  to  see  the  little  beautiful  creature  !"said 
Mrs.  Castleman,  holding  up  Jeanie's  face  with  both  hands 
close  to  her  own.  "  And  now,  tell  me,  pretty  little  Nelly, 
what  has  naughty  papa  done  with  poor  mamma  ?  Won't 
you  come  and  live  on  a  crust  with  your  poor  old  grandma  ? 
She  was  not  always  such  a  miserable  object  as  you  see  her, 
pretty  one.  Grandma  used  to  ride  in  her  carriage,  when 
your  papa  married  your  lovely,  unfortunate  mamma.  If  you 
will  come  home  with  me,  I  will  give  you  a  dried  butterfly — 
such  as  your  poor  old  grandma  has  got  to  be.  But  you  don't 

8* 


ITS  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

like  such  poor  relations,  do  you,  with  such  a  grand  papa, 
and  never  mean  to  live  with  your  mother  any  more,  now  that 
he  has  put  her  into  the  fiery  furnace,  like  the  three*  Shad- 
rachs  ?" 

With  her  little  face  blanched  with  terror  and  feeling, 
Jeanie  shrunk  away,  not  as  usual,  fleeing  to  the  side  of  her 
father,  but  stood,  as  if  rooted  with  sorrow,  dumb  with  ago 
ny,  her  tongue  sealed,  her  dark  blue  eyes  dilated  and  fixed 
upon  the  stone  wall  beyond  the  window. 

Again  her  grandmother  spoke  to  her. 

She  must  reply  to  her  mother's  only  parent,  who  loved 
the  persecuted  being,  torn  from  her  and  sent  away  to  die  in 
anguish.  She  looked  up  into  the  face  now  shrivelled  with 
malicious  joy,  seeing  not  in  it  the  triumph  of  a  fiend  who 
has  found  a  chord  on  which  to  play,  twisting  as  if  with  death- 
grips,  his  victim's  heart,  and  from  it  to  the  morning  sky, 
wondering  if  such  as  she  belonged  to  the  beautiful  world 
above  it.  Still  recoiling,  she  whispered,  "  No,  I  cannot  go 
with  you,  grandma,  but  I  don't  despise  you.  I  will  give  you 
this,  if  you  would  like  it.  Mamma  gave  it  to  me,  and  I 
value  it ;  but  you  are  poor  and  old,  and  she  is  your  child,  as 
I  am  hers.  It  has  her  name  upon  it — '  Elinor.'  I  would 
not  give  it  to  any  one  else  but  her  mother." 

The  little  gold  band  was  drawn  from  the  child's  arm,  and 
handed  shrinkingly  to  her  grandmother,  who,  seeing  the 
metal,  clutched  it  in  her  grasp,  while  she  said  : 

"  You  little  hurubird  I  You  will  not  let  me  starve — what 
is  that  you  wear  on  the  other  arm  ?" 

"  That  is  made  of  papa's  hair." 

"There  is  a  diamond  in  the  clasp,  little  Nelly.  You 
couldn't  give  me  your  papa's  hair,  could  you  ?  just  to  send 
your  poor  dear  mamma,  who  used  to  love  him  so  ?" 

Quicker  than  thought,  the  bracelet  was  removed,  while 
the  tears  rollr-d  from  her  eyes,  as  she  said  :  "  Oh  do  send  it 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  179 

to  her,  and  tell  her  to  send  papa  one  of  hers — couldn't  you 
like  it — wouldn't  you  keep  it,  if  you  knew  that  it  had  once 
laid  on  dear  mamma's  white  forehead  ?" 

The  question  now  plaintively  addressed  to  Mr.  Miller, 
received  no  reply,  but  as  if  his  child  had  been  poisoned  by 
a  reptile,  he  drew  her  from  the  extended  hand  of  her  grand 
mother,  exclaiming  : 

"  Jeanie,  if  you  wish  to  give  away  the  bracelet  woven  of 
your  father's  hair,  bury  it ;  but  never  link  it  with  that 
golden  clasp.  She  who  would  unite  them,  has  made  their 
donors  miserable  ;  and  avarice  now  causes  her  to  steal  them 
from  you." 

As  Mr.  Miller  spoke,  he  looked  upon  the  lineaments,  which 
rage  and  enmity  had  made  hideous,  and  said,  confronting  the 
miserable  wreck,  to  his  eye  embodying  falsehood  : 

"  Woman  !  you  have  transformed  one,  who  might  have 
been  one  of  earth's  angels,  into  a  being  deserving  only  pity 
and  contempt.  You  polluted  her  young  heart,  until  it  was 
but  a  fit  receptacle  for  your  vile  teachings — you  taught  her 
deceit  with  your  lying  tongue,  and  her  words  to  drop  as  a 
honey-comb  ;  and  well  may  it  be  on  your  death-bed,  if  her 
end  is  not  bitter  as  wormwood.  With  her  mother's  milk, 
she  sipped  the  poison  of  your  corrupt  nature,  and  well  have 
I  been  rewarded  for  my  credulity — but  mark  me  (the  sleep 
ing  lion  was  aroused  from  his  lair)  if  you  but  breathe  on 
her  innocent  child — infecting  her  with  the  foul  miasma  of 
your  mouldy,  rotten  principles,  I  will  withdraw  from  you 
your  income  ;  and  like  the  starved  wretch  you  pretend  to 
be,  you  shall  sink  to  your  grave,  before  I  will  keep  you 
above  it  to  ruin  my  child.  Jeanie,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  the  trembler  beside  him,  "you  have  heard  my  words  to 
your  grandmother,  and  now  beware  how  you  cross  her 
path.  To  her,  you  owe  all  the  sorrow  of  your  childhood." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  didn't  I  tell  you  so,  little  Nelly  ?" 


130  THE   TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  enraged  spectral  visitant,  rattled  and  chattered  like  a 
storm  shaken  bough,  crackling  in  the  wind.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you,  that  he  despised  your  poor  old  grandma,  who  gave 
him  her  beautiful  child  ?  No,  I  won't  touch  you  (the  old 
woman  retreated  with  a  show  of  humility),  my  little  pure 
spirit,  lest  I  might  taint  you,  pretty  one.  Your  poor 
despised  grandma  hasn't  got  any  beautiful  home  to  cherish 
you  in,  now,  nor  to  ask  your  beloved  mamma  to  come  home 
to  (the  darned  cambric  was  brought  in  use).  No — she  and 
I  must  die  in  a  starved  garret  by  ourselves.  Take  back 
your  gold  bracelet,  little  Nelly  ;  it  will  look  prettier  on  your 
beautiful  little  white  arm,  just  like  your  sweet  mother's  ; 
than  on  an  old  scorned  woman  like  your  poor  old  grandma. 
But  let  me  kiss  it  first — for  it  makes  me  think  of  my  little 
Elinor,  that  was  once  as  happy  and  pretty  as  you.  There  it 
is  on  the  floor— pick  it  up— don't  come  near  me,  I  am  not 
made  of  the  same  flesh  and  blood  as  you  be.  Your  papa's 
family  were  all  sanctified  from  the  birth." 

"  Don't  talk  so  grandma,  keep  it.  I '  don't  want  it  now, 
I  shall  not  want  any-thing  pretty  any  more — may  I  go  back 
to  the  farm  to-day,  papa  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,  and  oh  !  would  to  God  you  had  remained  there, 
that  you  had  not  left  it,  to  witness  a  scene  like  this  !  Tell 
Keturah  to  prepare  you  immediately  for  your  return." 

Keturah  now  came  to  the  door,  when  Mr.  Miller  asked 
her  in.  Seeing  Mrs.  Castleman,  she  looked  at  her  as  she 
might  at  any  other  transparency,  wondering  of  what  chem 
icals  she  was  composed. 

In  her  anger  the  widow  seemed  to  have  weasled  up  into 
smaller  dimensions  ;  and  as  the  buxom  girl  according  to  her 
ideas  of  good  manners,  approached  her — giving  her  broad 
palm  to  the  only  two  little  digits  observable,  saying,  "How 
dy-do,  inarm,"  the  conjunction  seemed  likely  to  prove  as 
disastrous  as  unwelcome  to  the  poor  shell  of  aristocracy. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  181 

With  a  half  shriek,  the  old  lady  retreated  from  the  grip 
ing  hand  that  had  nearly  crushed  the  little  fingers  caught 
hold  of  (not  offered),  while  she  gathered  up  her  silk  robed 
remains,  and  the  .neglected  bracelet,  which  she  put  with  the 
fifty  dollar  note,  and  rustled  out  as  she  came  in — not  with  a 
smirk,  but  with  such  tight  compression  of  the  thin  lips  over 
her  teeth  as  to  cause  in  the  beholder  the  fear,  that  a  sudden 
loosening  of  the  strings  that  pursed  them  together,  might 
produce  a  never  closing  grin. 

As  she  departed,  without  an  adieu,  Keturah  opened  the 
door,  and  stretching  her  neck,  looked  after  her,  until  she 
was  out  of  sight,  when  with  a  succession  of  short  chuckles, 
she  said : 

"  My  senses  is  failin'  or  else  that  aged  person  that  went 
out,  is  made  of  gamaribac  and  jelly.  I  am  afraid  I  spiled 
the  shape  of  one  of  her  fingers,  it  seemed  to  crumb  up  so. 
She's  a  pretty  codfish  !  Well,  Miss  Jinny,  I  don't  know  as 
you've  been  entertained,  but  I've  seen  enough  of  the  city." 

"  I  will  go  with  you — good  bye,  papa."  The  little  mourn 
ful  face  looked  up  at  the  features  grown  haggard  since 
morning,  and  there  caught  their  expression  of  overwhelming 
tenderness. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  came — will  you  forgive  me  ?"  The  sweet 
voice  trembled. 

"  Yes,  my  daughter.  Is  there  no  one  that  you  can 
trust  ?" 

"Yes,  papa,  there  is  One  that  is  good." 

"  Go  then,  and  lay  all  your  sorrows  at  His  feet.  It  was 
not  meant  that  you  should  be  drawn  to  your  God  with  your 
eyes  undimmed,  and  your  faith  unshaken  in  those  you  love. 
It  is  so  ordained  by  Him  who  '  doeth  all  things  well/  that 
by  strange  and  rugged  paths,  my  little  lamb  shall  find  the 
fold  of  her  Saviour.  You  will  not  wander  always  in  the 
'  dark  wood '  my  child,  through  the  dim  aisles  where  no  light 


132  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

is — fearing,  doubting — seeing  '  none  good,  no  not  one.'  Like 
the  bow  after  the  storm,  hope  will  gild  your  horizon,  and 
the  Sun  of  Righteousness  there  arise,  with  healing  on  his 
wings." 

Rapt  in  holy  zeal  for  his  child's  conversion,  Mr.  Miller 
knew  not  that  the  little  being  to  whom  he  was  murmuring 
words  of  pious  import,  had  received  a  severer  shock  in  his 
language  and  bearing  to  her  aged  relative,  than  his  myste 
rious  abandonment  of  her  mother  had  ever  given  her.  She 
now  listened  as  to  a  Pharisee,  believing  that  from  his  lips 
fell  words  of  hollow  mockery.  Yearning  as  her  heart  did 
for  the  union  of  her  parents,  could  she  now  wish  to  bring 
her  discarded  mother  back  to  him,  who  could  send  hers  in 
suffering  and  poverty  from  his  presence  ? 

The  child's  consoling  faith  in  her  father,  had  lost  its 
beautiful  tinge,  and  as  the  rosy  sky  of  morning  darkens  with 
rising  mists,  so  over  Jeanie's  trustful  mind  came  a  thicken 
ing  disc,  shadowing  it  with  desponding  doubt. 

She  had  been  disappointed  in  the  absence  of  her  brother, 
and  with  a  heart  sadder,  but  more  composed,  she  made  her 
final  farewell  to  her  father,  and  left  with  Keturah  for 
home. 

Much  to  her  surprise,  Mr.  Hamlin  was  at  the  carriage  door, 
and  she  was  still  more  amazed  when  he  seated  himself  beside 
her,  while  earnestly  he  looked  into  her  sorrowful  face. 

"  I  have  another  little  passenger  under  the  seat,  will  you 
take  him  with  you,  and  care  for  him  ?"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  I  know,"  a  gleam  coming  through  the  mist,  "  what  it  is 
by  its  chirping  ;  poor  little  bird  1" 

Keturah,  who  felt  that  the  value  of  her  protection  had 
been  called  in  question,  by  the  assumption  of  their  compan 
ion,  was  indignantly  silent. 

"  I  want  you  to  cherish  him  for  me,  will  you  ?" 

"Did  you  take  him  out  of  his  nest,  and  away  from  the 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  183 

old  birds  who  feed  Mm  ?"  An  expression  of  pity  mingled 
with  the  sweet  play  of  the  child's  features. 

"  No,  little  Jeanie,  he  never  knew,  like  you,  the  charm  of 
a  woodland  home — the  fragrance  of  the  country.  I  am 
sure  you  will  feel  for  him,  and  let  him  share  your  enjoyment^ 
if  its  light  and  sweetness  comes  through  gilded  wires.  I 
know  from  your  looks  that  you  like  to  impart  happiness,  if 
but  to  a  bird." 

"  Nothing  I  love  will  stay  with  me." 

Mr.  Hamlin  was  struck  more  with  the  confiding  tone  of 
the  little  girl,  than  with  the  remark.  Her  clear  blue  eyes 
were  raised  fully  to  his.  Around  her  mouth  a  touching 
expression  of  sorrow  lingered,  as  she  half  whispered  her 
plaintive  words. 

The  feeling  of  tender  interest  awakened  for  the  child 
deepened.  The  carriage  had  reached  the  cars  ;  still  he 
remained  with  her,  taking  a  seat  beside  her. 

"You've  got  my  seat,"  said  Keturah  warmly. 

"  I  will  provide  you  with  another  as  good."  The  ousted 
escort  was  silenced,  when  again  the  child,  bird  and  her 
companion,  made  a  trio  in  proximity  to  her. 

"  Why  do  you  go  with  me  ?" 

"  To  take  care  of  the  bird,"  replied  Mr.  Hamlin,  smiling. 

"Do  you  love  birds  ?" 

"Yes,  Jeanie.  How  long  they  have  sung — ever  since 
they  warbled  in  sunny  Eden  :  we  have  no  reason  to  think 
their  song  was  any  blither  in  Paradise,  or  they  were  more 
beautiful,  than  now.  It  is  a  sweet  thought  that  the  flaming 
sword  did  not  banish  them,  and  that  no  blight  ever  hushed 
their  music.  They  have  all  the  innocence  they  had  on 
Eve's  bridal  morn." 

"  Noah  must  have  loved  the  little  dove  that  went  out 
seeking  land  for  him,  and  those  who  looked  out  for  his 
return  were  as  glad  to  see  him  back  as  to  see  the  olive 


18-1  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

twig  in  his  month.  I  wonder  if  there  will  be  birds  in  heaven. 
The  Bible  speaks  of  them  as  having  '  white  wings  covered 
with  silver/  and  of  '  feathers  with  yellow  gold.' " 

"  A  bird  is  the  only  existing  earthly  thing  that  is  fetterless 
like  the  spirit.  The  Psalmist  says,  '  Oh,  that  I  had  the 
wings  of  a  dove.'  They  seem  to  me,  to  as  much  bespeak 
God's  glory  as  the  stars — holy,  pure  and  imperishable  as 
they  are.  As  the  heart  pants  with  upward  longings,  they 
soar  in  the  blue  ether,  and  so  pure  they  seem,  that  fancy 
might  carry  them  to  the  golden  gates.  Then,  too,  they  have 
all  hues  that  ever  dyed  rainbow,  gem  or  flower  ;  and  if 
angel  spirits  come  about  us,  in  no  guise  could  we  fancy  them 
with  sweeter  satisfaction,  than  as  little  birds.  I  know  that 
you  have  plenty  of  these  unimprisoned  choristers  around  you, 
and  so  I  give  you  one  to  love  and  pity,  because  he  is  not  in 
his  natural  element,  and  has  no  parent  bird  to  succor  him." 

"  Why  did  you  bring  him  to  me  ?"  Jeanie's  face  gleamed 
with  feeling. 

"  God  sent  him,  just  as  He  will  provide  a  home  of  love 
and  sweeter  companionship  some  day  for  you.  But  why  are 
you  not  happy  in  your  present  home  ?" 

"  I  was  once,  but  no  one,  not  even  Aunt  Jane,  knows  how 
I  feel,  or  why  I  lie  awake  at  night,  and  when  I  go  away  by 
myself,  they  think  it  is  because  I  like  to  rove  ;  but  they  do 
not  know  that  I  think  of  things  I  cannot  explain  or  under 
stand,  a-nd  that  my  life  seems  useless  as  little  Mink's.  Dear 
Aunt  Jane  is  good,  but  I  feel  bound  as  if  in  a  prison, 
when  I  am  chained  down  to  the  opinions  and  restraints  she 
puts  upon  me.  I  often  feel  a  desire  to  break  away — to 
scream  out,  do  anything  to  make  the  house  less  orderly  and 
quiet.  Keturah's  fun  is  all  my  amusement,  and  we  have 
some  good  laughs.  Then  I  think  I  should  be  so  happy  with 
my  mother,  for  I  know  she  would  understand  me,  and  love 
me  as  I  long  to  be  loved." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  185 

"  You  think  she  has  all  your  enthusiasm — that  is  what  you 
mean — you  yearn  for  sympathy,  but  what  if  you  found  her 
unlike  yourself?" 

"  I  would  try  to  resemble  her.  Do  I  look  as  she  did  ?" 
Mr.  Hamlin  scanned  the  pure  face  that  looked  up  eagerly, 
craving  a  reply  which  required  a  comparison  he  would 
avoid.  Thick  about  his  heart  came  memories  of  '  love 
wildered '  hours,  when  dizzy  with  passion,  he  drank  a  fevered 
chalice.  The  innocent  face  still  looked  up,  and  roused  the 
dreamer.  He  contrasted  her  with  one,  .his  brain  too  vividly 
imaged ;  and  as  the  sun  streamed  across  her  brow,  gilding 
her  silken  hair,  he  thought  it  not  mockery  to  deem  it  fit  for 
an  angel's  crown.  Yes,  she  was  like  her  mother,  but  so 
pure — so  stainless. 

"  You  are  not  so  beautiful,"  he  replied,  "  but  were  I  to 
advise  you,  Jeanie,  how  to  seek  happiness,  I  would  say — 
give  up  dreaming,  and  be  guided  in  your  pursuits,  even  in 
thought,  by  one  whom  you  can  trust.  At  present,  you  are 
-  oppressed  with  a  vague  grief  ;  you  are  conscious  of  great 
wrong  somewhere,  and  you  do  not  understand  the  extent  of 
your  calamity.  Your  routine  of  study  needs  some  change. 
Do  you  love  poetry  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — but  I  am  not  allowed  to  read  it." 
With  deep  toned  sweetness,  Mr.  Hamlin  repeated  some  of 
Scott's  most  beautiful  lines.  With  astonishment  and  delight 
she  listened — pleading  for  more,  until  he  saw  by  the  enthu 
siasm  and  feeling  portrayed  in  each  feature,  that  she  had  an 
exquisite  appreciation  of  the  harmony  of  verse,  and  purity 
of  sentiment.  Reciting  sweet  and  elevated  passages,  he  drew 
from  the  eyes  of  Jeanie,  tears  and  sparkling  radiance.  A 
new  world  seemed  opened  to  her  in  the  realms  of  fancy. 
At  its  threshold  she  stood  wondering — for  the  moment 
blissful  in  her  faith  in  one  who  could  charm  away  her 
sorrow. 


186  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

And  he,  silent  to  her,  mused  over  the  lines  : 

"  It  is  not  love  I  feel,  it  is  pure  kindness. 
How  shall  I  find  another  like'my  last? 
The  golden  and  the  gorgeous  loveliness. 
A  sunset  beauty  I  Ah,  I  saw  it  set ! 
My  heart,  alas,  set  with  it  !    I  have  drained 
Life  of  all  love,  as  doth  an  iron  rod 
The  heavens  of  lightning ;  I  have  done  with  it, 
And  all  its  waking  woes,  and  dreamed  of  joys." 

It  was  a  shade  of  melancholy  flitting  over  his  spirit,  as  a 
pale  moonbeam  over  the  sea.  Recovering  himself,  he 
thought  of  the  little  girl,  whose  sorrow  for  the  situation  of 
her  parents,  had  awakened  his  pity,  and  aroused  his  deter 
mination  to  soothe  and  cheer  her.  The  growing  resemblance 
to  her  beautiful  mother,  at  once  magnetized  and  repelled 
him,  and  but  for  her  childhood  and  innocence,  he  would  have 
avoided  her.  But  as  the  mysterious  murmurings  of  his 
voice,  almost  hushed  with  the  jar  and  noise  of  machinery, 
awakened  gleams  of  spiritual  beauty  in  the  sweet  little  face, 
and  nearer  to  him  drew  the  childish  confiding  listener,  his 
heart  went  out  towards  her.  He  would  become  her  literary 
guide  and  teacher,  and  on  the  base  of  her  practical  educa 
tion,  engraft  the  graces  of  belle  lettre  scholarship  ;  he  would 
awaken  her  being  to  its  full  capacity,  and  by  enlarging  its 
attributes,  give  scope  to  the  range  of  thought,  now  panting 
in  its  prison-house  to  be  free.  By  the  inspiration  of  his 
teachings,  he  would,  as  with  an  artist's  pencil,  show  her  all 
that  was  brilliant  and  sweet  in  nature,  until  on  her  fancy,  it 
burned  a  glowing  landscape  ;  while  on  her  mind,  he  would 
fix  sublime  and  sacred  truths,  studding  as  with  stars,  a  sur 
face  so  pure  and  stainless. 

Furthermore,  he  would  teach  her  to  reason,  until  she  was 
able  to  solve  questions  perplexing  to  the  untaught,  unde 
veloped  mind,  and  she  should  find  with  him  rich  intellectual 
communion. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  187 

Thus  Philip  Hamlin  dreamed,  as  he  poured  light  and  sun 
shine  on  the  tear-bedewed  bud,  that  he  would  transplant 
into  a  richer  garden  of  culture.  Meantime,  the  brief  hours 
whiled  away,  until  at  length  he  had  reached  the  home  of  his 
charge,  to  which  he  conducted  her  with  her  bird  (Keturah. 
following)  while  she  promised  to  read  with  her  aunt's  per 
mission,  some  volumes  which  he  left  with  her. 

Mr.  Hamlin  was  rewarded  for  his  trouble,  in  witnessing 
the  change  his  attentions  and  conversation  had  wrought, 
and  when  he  left  the  little  girl  at  the  door  of  the  farm-house, 
she  seemed  to  have  been  tasting  fruit  in  some  fairy  bower  ; 
and  not  until  the  form  of  her  protector  passed  from  her 
sight,  did  she  realize  that  he  was  the  first  person  who  had  ever 
given  her  permission  to  lose  the  presence  of  things  actual,  in 
the  inspiration  of  the  beautiful  ideal.  The  following  week, 
Mr.  Hamlin's  business  required  him  to  journey  South. 


THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

MRS.  MILLER'S  rooms,  which  had  been  full,  were 
now  nearly  deserted.  Some  of  the  guests  lingered 
at  their  wine,  and  a  few  remained  in  the  parlors. 

The  apartments  in  which  her  visitors  had  assembled,  were 
less  luxurious  than  those  more  private,  but  their  beautiful 
simplicity  compensated  for  the  loss  of  magnificence. 

Space  and  airiness  at  first  mostly  impressed  one,  so  lofty 
and  extensive  were  the  broad  halls  of  festivity,  but  a  closer 
scrutiny  revealed  taste  in  their  adorning,  which  manifested 
a  nice  sense  of  the  beautiful,  and  a  love  for  the  arts. 

Statuary  grouped,  mingled  their  classic  forms  midst 
couches  of  downy  luxury,  seeming  to  breathe,  so  illusive 
and  dreamy,  was  the  light,  that  fell  upon  them,  coming 
through  rosy  drapery,  as  the  crimson  of  a  sunset  sky  falls 
upon  crusted  snow.  The  fragrance  of  violets  scented  the 
air,  as  in  clusters  they  lay  about  the  rooms,  fresh  from 
southern  bowers. 

Between  the  light  tasteful  pillars  (twined  since  Christmas 
with  fresh  myrtle  and  holly)  stood  the  Graces  sculptured 
by  the  hand  of  immortal  genius.  Around  the  walls  hung 
drapery  of  lace  looped  with  ornaments  resembling  pearls. 
Parting,  it  showed,  as  if  in  vista,  a  sky  of  blue,  through 
which,  at  evening,  glowed  by  artificial  radiance,  light  as  if  of 
stars.  The  effect  was  novel  and  magical.  In  an  alcove 
flowers  exhaled  their  balmy  breath,  and  further  onward  in 
an  aviary,  birds  of  tropical  climes  winged  m  brilliant 


T  H  K  O  'J  G  H     THE     W  0  0  D  .  189 

plumage  Golden  harps  and  lyres  of  Eolian  sweetness,  courted 
melody  from  every  passing  breeze,  and  the  touch  of  fairy 
fingers.  Paintings  hung  about  in  recesses,  and  conspicuous 
among  them,  robed  in  Grecian  costume,  was  visible  one 
representing  the  mistress  of  an  abode  epicurean  as  its 
owner. 

The  evening  was  far  spent,  and  yet  Mr.  Hamlin  lingered. 
Mrs.  Miller  was  bewildered,  asking  herself  his  motive. 
The  lady  was  flattered.  She  resolved  to  be  gracious — of 
late  she  had  ceased  to  be  so — yet  not  considering  that 
she  wasted  her  pearls  on  an  "  oyster,"  as  Mr.  Lawrence 
called  the  man  he  was  not  sharp  enough  to  open.  She 
deemed  that  now,  if  ever,  she  could  conquer  his  inacces 
sibility. 

Those  of  her  guests  not  yet  gone,  were  engaged  with 
cards,  and  under  the  excitement  of  their  wagers.  She  had 
never  appeared  more  lovely  ;  the  consciousness  aided  her 
self-possession  in  addressing  one  hitherto  reserved  and  cold. 

To  a  man  of  world  experience,  Elinor  Miller,  at  the 
age  of  thirty,  was  more  personally  attractive  than  in  her 
girlhood.  Not  that  her  cheek  showed  so  pure  an  oval,  or 
that  her  crimson  lip  was  so  ripe  as  then,  or  the  outline  of 
her  features  so  softly  exquisite,  but  that  which  she  had 
lost  in  youthfulness,  she  had  gained  in  expression  and 
action.  The  eloquence  of  feeling  and  intellect  added  inten 
sity  to  the  radiance  of  a  face,  taught  in  every  glance  to 
betray  emotion — in  every  tuneful  word,  to  breathe  deep 
music.  She  now  concentrated  the  power  of  her  attractions, 
and  with  the  artillery  of  her  varied  accomplishments 
subjugated  her  admirers — they  dazzled  by  the  lustre  of 
features  sparkling  with  genius,  won  by  the  affectionate 
earnestness  of  manner,  sometimes  childlike  in  its  fervor, 
while  addressing  such  as  she  deemed  it  worth  her  pains  to 
please.  There  were  times,  when  stirred  with  inspiration 


190  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

awakened  by  some  object  of  art,  she  would  seem  the  ideal 
of  the  transcendentalist,  so  spiritual  and  lofty  was  the  enthu 
siasm  of  her  countenance.  Then  as  a  sky  changes  its  hues, 
she  would  flash  with  meteoric  light,  profusely  throwing 
around  her  the  diamonds  of  her  intellect,  until  those  who 
worshipped,  yielded  her  the  palm  of  superiority.  But 
better  it  was  for  him  who  listened,  for  him  who  basked  in 
her  noontide  splendor,  that  she  chose  no  softer,  gentler 
mood.  As  well  might  the  traveller  beneath  a  Syrian  sky, 
resist  its  glowing  influence — its  fervid  heats,  the  poppy 
breath  of  the  Mandragora,  or  turn  aside  from  an  El  Dorado 
of  sweet  blooming  flowers,  though  surfeited  with  their  rich 
perfume,  as  for  the  unfortified  to  resist  the  blandishments 
of  this  fair  enslaver. 

In  her  style  of  dress  at  home,  Mrs.  Miller  was  governed 
by  no  arbitrary  rules,  though  as  a  devotee  to  fashion  she 
appeared  abroad,  and  as  caprice  ruled  her,  would  assume 
any  garb  she  deemed  becoming  ;  sometimes  choosing  the 
costume  of  foreign  lands,  and  often  displaying  the  beauty  of 
her  form  in  that  of  the  ancient  Greek,  with  which  its  style 
comported. 

She  had  chosen  to-night  a  tunic  of  brilliant  crimson, 
looped  low  on  the  shoulders  with  diamond  clasps.  Beneath, 
a  white  silk  robe  fell — wrought  with  gold.  The  edge  of  the 
garment,  was  bordered  with  glittering  fringe.  On  her 
neck  and  bosom  jewels  gleamed,  a  wreath  of  oak  leaves 
with  golden  acorns,  resting  upon  her  forehead. 

On  her  countenance  shone  the  consciousness  of  intellec 
tual  power,  subdued. :  into  softness.  She  would  not  rival 
one  she  wished  to  conquer.  The  rays  emitted  from  the 
star-studded  vista,  was  the  only  light  shed  through  the 
rooms.  Approaching  Mr.  Hamliu,  she  sat  down  near 
him.  i 

As  he  looked  at  her  he  thought  of  the  Orient  and  its 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  193 

Would  a  million  inferior  suns  compensate  for  the  orb  of  fire, 
set  by  the  living  God  ?" 

"  I  perhaps  understand  you,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  putting 
back  from  her  temples  her  glittering  wreath,  while  hope 
kindled  her  cheek  ;  "  and  I  can  only  say  in  reply,  that  there 
are  beings  whose  sympathy  compensates  for  such  toil,  but  if 
not  on  earth  do  we  meet  this  kindred  spirit,  we  must  pass  a 
weary  pilgrimage  in  seeking  it,  despising  not  the  rubbish, 
lest  we  miss  the  golden  ore." 

"  Would  it  not  be  an  aim  more  worthy  to  keep  the  gold 
you  win,  instead  of  maintaining  a  fruitless  search  ?" 

"  Ah,  you  strike  a  chord  that  responds  like  music  to  my 
heart  !  You  will  no  longer  call  my  ambition  ignoble,  when 
I  crave,  as  its  reward  (the  star-lighted  form  trembled  like 
the  low  sweet  voice)  your  friendship.  W^uld  it  not  be 
cooler  in  the  garden  ?  The  night  is  warm."' 

The  lady  rose,  throwing  over  her  shoulders  a  mantle,  and 
with  her  companion,  passed  through  an  alcove,  and  down  a 
flight  of  steps,  into  the  garlanded  court. 

Here  Flora  Deemed  to  be  holding  a  festal  fete.     The 
shone  down  in  full  brilliancy  upon  a  galaxy  of  beauties 
expanding  their  charms  in  "this  gafden  boudoir,  and  truly 
aristocratic*  was  the  company  assembled. 

There  were  few  plebeian  guests,  though  here  and  there  a 
republican  wa?  seen  among  the  rose  nobility,  bearing  the 
names  of  "  Henry  Clay,"  and  "  Lady  Washington."  The 
"  Queen  of  the  Bourbons,"  with  her  waxy,  blushing  face, 
seemed  smiling  in  her  loveliness  upon  "  George  the  Fourth/' 
who  in  velvet  crimson  robes  masqueraded,  while  by  his  side 
the  "  Princess  of  the  House  of  Luxembourg,"  and  the  pride 
of  the  "  Malmaison  "  court,  coquetted  with  "  Prince  Albert," 
and  the-  "  Duke  of  Orleans."  The  "  Violet  Episcopal " 
exhibited  no  sectarian  preferences,  but  bloomed  in  "  close 
communion  "  with  the  yellow-decked  "  Roman,"  while  "  Duch- 

9 


I 


194  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

esses  "  and  "  Countesses  "  reared  more  proudly  their  brilliant 
crests,  at  the  close  proximity  of  "La-  belle  Africaine,"  with 
"  Sablee  "  in  her  train. 

In  this  southern  bower  of  fragrance  from  every  court  of 
Europe,  from  past  generations,  the  floral  beauties  seemed  to 
have  come,  each  bearing  the  titles  of  their  ancestors.  The 
knights  of  the  "  Cloth  of  Gold  "  stood  conspicuous  in  the 
pageant.  Gorgeous  in  their  perfumed  folds  of  buff  and  sap 
phire,  they  tower  aloft,  showering  around  them  their  heaven- 
dyed  gems.  As  sentinels  or  slaves  in  oriental  attire,  the 
"Lion  of  the  Combats,"  and  the  "  Giant  of  the  Battles," 
arrayed  in  brilliant  crimson,  follow  en  suite. 

Beautiful  as  a  dream  was  this  garden  of  fragrance,  and  to 
one  from  a  more  northern  clime,  magical  in  its  prodigal  lux 
ury  of  blooms,  and  in  the  height  and  breadth  of  its  wide- 
spreading  verdure. 

Beneath  the  glossy  leaves  of  the  lofty  magnolia,  and  the 
beautiful  bay-tree,  not  yet  in  flower,  Mr.  Hamlin  walked 
with  Mrs.  Miller,  in  a  path  bordering  the  rose-garden. 

"  Do  I  understand,"  said  the  lady,  u  that  we  are  hence 
forth  friends?" 

"  Mrs.  Miller,  what  rjght  hare  you  to  ask  my  friendship  ? 
— a  woman  both  foolish  and  insane.  I  visit  you  for  another 
purpose  than  gallantry,  and  I  trust,  a  righteous  one." 

"  Why  do  you  torture  with  your  presence  one  you  despise  ? 
You  both  agitate  and  oppress  me.  You  do  not  know  what 
it  is  to  barter  all  the  wealth  of  one's  nature  for  gold  ;  to 
see  day  and  night  the  glare  of  the  cold  bright  metal,  and 
nothing  else.  Oh  1  how  I  wish  my  heart  were  stone,  or  I 
were  a  girl  again,  that  I  might  offer  it  to  him  I  loved." 

Pale  with  excited  feeling,  Elinor^iller  continued  : 

"Itmayciiuse  you  satisfaction  that  you  have  humbled 
me,  for  I  have  craved  your  friendship,  but  instead,  I  have 
but  your  scorn.  Again,  I  ask,  why  do  yon  visit  me  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  195 

"  Hoping  that  I  may  induce  you  to  become  worthy  of 
your  husband.  But  why  should  I  be  your  mentor  ?  I 
do  not  assume  that  right.  Still  I  would  return  good  for 
evil." 

"  What  evil  have  I  done  you  ?  Will  you  madden  me  to 
put  an  end  to  my  miserable  existence  ?" 

"  Will  you  be  a  fool  as  well  as  wicked  ?  Is  there  not 
another  life  ?  Miserable  woman  !  Have  you  no  thought 
beyond  the  gratification  of  your  vanity  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  care  what  becomes  of  me  ?" 

"  You  have  a  husband  and  a  child.  She  you  profess  to 
love,  looks  to  you  as  a  star  on  her  memory — the  star  of  her 
future  hopes." 

"  The  more  reason  that  I  should" wish  to  die."  Bursting 
into  tears,  the  speaker  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  Am  I 
not  a  victim  of  tyranny  ?" 

"  No,  pardon  me,  rather  of  your  own  folly.  You  suffer, 
but  for  you  there  is  the  purest  consolation.  You  have 
wasted  your  best  years  in  the  pursuit  of  a  pjhantom  ;  and  by 
it  fevered  your  imagination,  and  palsied  your  noblest  impul 
ses  ;  but,  thank  God,  for  the  honor  of  your  husband,  you 
have  not  thrown  yourself  entirely  away.  Bereft  of  your 
weak  ambition,  your  pride  and  vanity,  you  are  yet  capable 
of  all  that  is  generous  and  good.  For  your  earthly  happi 
ness,  I  would  bid  you  seek  the  forgiveness  of  him  you  have 
wronged.  I  would  have  you  see  him,  not  as  you  are  now,  in 
>the  garb  of  a  Houri,  but  adorned  with  a  robe  of  simplicity, 
and  with  an  humble  spirit." 

"  You  care  not  how  you  torture  me  !" 

"  How  can  I  render  you  less  unhappy  ?"  Mr.  Hamlin 
spoke  half  in  bitterness,  half  in  a  tone  of  derision. 

"  You,"  said  the  frantic  woman,  as  he  removed  from  her, 
folding  his  arms  ;  "  no  !  you  prefer  to  crush  my  heart,  as 
you  h;ive  humbled  my  pride." 


19G  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Elinor  Miller,  forget  not  there  is  one  to  whom  you  owe 
your  first  allegiance — he  whom  ypu  have  driven  from  you, 
by  your  reckless  course.  I  know  the  mind  of  Archibald 
Miller  as  I  do  my  own.  And  I  know  that  though  he  had 
the  '  heart  of  a  lion/  it  would  melt  beneath  a  woman's  sor 
rowful  contrition  ;  but  his  Godlike  integrity  demands  of  you 
a  life  corresponding  with  his  principles.  Did  I  not  know 
you  to  be  too  proud  to  be  vicious,  I  would  not  degrade  him 
by  endeavoring  to  unite  you  to  him.  Shall  I  make  clear 
the  way  for  your  happiness,  and  that  of  your  lovely  child  ?" 

"  I  would  sooner  seek  retaliation  upon  one  who  had  thus 
humiliated  me.  Is  not  my  child  taught  to  despise  me,  and 
will  she  not  be  torn  from  me  eventually  ?" 

"  I  am  commissioned  to  bring  her  to  you  next  winter. 
She  is  a  sweet  flower,  too  pure  for  scenes  of  revelry  ;  and 
like  these  buds  around  us,  needs  dew  as  well  as  sunshine. 
She  yearns  for  a  mother's  tender  love.  Oh  !  let  her  also 
enjoy  unbroken  confidence  in  one  whom  she  reveres." 

"  For  him  and  her  you  have  then  only  sought  me  ?" 

"  To  me  you  are  naught  but  as  the  wife  of  my  friend,  and 
the  parent  of  a  child  for  whom  I  feel  much  tenderness.  But 
I  will  say  this,  that  were  you  mine,  you  should  either  be 
transported  to  desert  wilds,  or  be  subject  to  your  husband  in 
honor  and  obedience.  I  cannot  say  that  in  this  I  should  not 
be  a  tyrant." 

"  You  would  not  have  cast  me  off — say  this  !  say  this  !" 

"  I  say  nothing,  but  that  for  him  to  whom  you  pledgedt 
your  maiden  vows,  I  would  have  you  live  worthily,  and 
regain  the  love  you  lost  by  your  own  folly.  You  thought 
yourself  his  superior,  and  you  tortured  him  to  the  mad  act 
of  parting  from  you.  But,  believe  me,  superior  though  you 
may  be  in  the  gifts  of  genius,  heaven's  blue  dome  is  not 
higher  above  the  earth,  than  'the  aspirations  of  this  despised 
man  above  your  own.  Has  not  his  whole  life  been  spent  in 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  197 

God's  service  ?  in  a  life  of  usefulness  to  his  fellow-creatures  ? 
Has  he  not,  like  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  sought  the  poor 
and  lowly,  while  his  charity,  like  a  mantle,  has  spread  over 
all,  even  sparing  his  wife  the  condemnation  she  has  received 
from  a  world  that  judges  not  mercifully." 

"  Has  it  censured  me  ?" 

"  It  has.  You  are  better  than  you  would  seem,  though 
that  is  but  little  in  your  favor." 

"  Mr.  Hamlin,"  Mrs.  Miller's  face  flashed  anger,  "  I  have 
borne  from  you  insult,  and  scorn,  until  my  brain  has  mad 
dened.  Yon  might  have  raised  my  ambition,  but  you  will 
drive  me  to  ruin  or  death." 

Mr.  Hamlin  curled  his  stern  lip,  while  he  bent  his  dark 
eyes  upon  her  whom  he  addressed  : 

"  Am  I  the  man,  think  you,  to  be  beguiled  by  a  woman's 
art  ?  I  am  no  boy,  neither  can  I  forget  to  respect  myself, 
or  the  honor  of  my  friend." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Hamh'n  ascended  the  steps  leading 
to  the  alcove,  when  he  parted  with  his  hostess. 

Mrs.  Miller  heard  the  next  day  that  he  had  left  for  the 
North.  Mr.  Lawrence  had  called  early,  bringing  the  news. 
He  was  shocked  to  find  his  "  charming  friend  "  indisposed. 
He  thought  she  needed  air  and  exercise,  and  would  call 
round  and  give  her  a  drive. 

"  Would  she  take  the  shell  roa'd  ?"  The  inquiry  was  sent 
her. 

Mr.  Lawrence  called  at  six.  Mrs.  Miller  was  "  not  at 
home."  It  was  some  consolation  that  his  buggy  had  been 
seen  at  her  door.  Mr.  Lawrence  was  proud  of  his  acquaint 
ance  with  Mrs.  Miller,  and  talked  "  about  town  "  of  the  way 
she  "bored"  him.  There  was  no  man  for  whom  he  felt 
such  unqualified  contempt  as  Mr.  Hamh'n.  He  considered, 
and  pronounced  him,  a  "  Goth." 


198  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

IN  a  village  adjoining  Meadow  Brook,  known  as  Mad 
River,  from  a  little  stream  supposed  to  be  insane, 
though  useful  for  mills  and  other  rational  purposes,  there 
may  be  seen  on  the  declivity  of  a  hill,  an  humble  dwelling 
called  a  parsonage.  Its  owner  and  occupant  was  a  widow 
by  the  name  of  Middleton.  She  had  been  the  wife  of  the 
former  clergyman  of  the  parish,  and  was  thoroughly 
puritanical  in  her  prejudices  and  opinions  ;  without  that 
enlargement  of  her  views,  which  an  acquaintance  with  the 
world  often  creates  even  in  a  mind  contracted  both  by 
education  and  nature.  Her  life  had  been  a  totally  secluded 
on,e,  in  the  small  village,  of  which  she  was  (unconscious  to 
its  inhabitants)  the  female  ruler,  and  disciplinarian. 

It  was  enough  to  settle  any  dispute  agitated,  that  she 
had  formed  a  decision  upon  it — and  she  considered  all  who 
differed  from  her,  as  presuming  and  arrogant.  Her  dogma 
tism,  assumption,  and  bigotry,  being,  however,  accompanied 
by  all  outward  manifestations  of  orthodoxy,  and  the  forms 
of  religion,  she  was  deemed  by  the  humble  villagers  as 
their  superior,  while  they  overlooked  her  illiberality  and 
uncharitableness  in  her  pretended  zeal  for  their  good, 
and  her  never  failing  attendance  (especially  in  inclement 
weather)  upon  all  pastoral  ordinances. 

Under  the  hill  she  had  been  born,  and  still  lived  (though 
she  seemed  always  climbing  that  of  Difficulty),  her  father 
having  bestowed  it  upon  her  at  the  time  of  her  marriage  ; 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  199 

lie  still  continuing  his  school  in  the  rear  of  it,  where  for  the 
period  of  thirty  years, .  he  had  taught,  cuffed,  and  whipped 
the  boys  of  the  village — both  being  objects  of  terror  and 
respect,  the  one  from  his  faithful  application  of  the  birch, 
and  the  other  from  the  exercise  of  a  not  less  smarting  rod 
of  discipline,  her  tongue. 

That  Mrs.  Middleton  was  the  female  dictator,  and  general 
superintendent  of  affairs  temporal  and  spiritual,  no  one 
pretended  to  dispute,  much  less  the  little  modest  bride  of 
the  young  clergyman,  lately  installed,  to  whom  she  was 
both  mentor  and  Pope. 

Mr.  Middleton,  the  former  pastor,  had  been  a  meek, 
subdued  looking  invalid,  for  ten  years  previous  to  his  death, 
finally  expiring,  while  his  wife  was  travelling  through 
massive  -  snow-drifts,  to  "deal"  with  an  erring  sister,  who 
had  absented  herself  from  church  for  some  unknown  cause. 

Mrs.  Middleton  endeavored  to  educate  her  children  after 
her  own  moral  and  religious  standard,  in  which  Charity  was 
left  out,  and  justice  established  as  the  crowning  virtue  ; 
while  she  opposed  with  iron  will,  all  innovations  on  old 
customs  and  forms,  especially  in  church  matters. 

Mr.  Slocuin  had  for  forty  years  set  the  tune  in  the  choir, 
and  with  his  forefinger  layed  it  down — the  rise  and  fall  of 
his  body,  the  uplifting  of  his  scalp,  and  the  descending  of 
his  lower  jaw,  keeping  time  with  the  nasal  twang  of  his  fa-so 
la — which.  Mrs.  Middleton  thought,  ought  to  be  a  sufficient 
signal  to  the  Mad  Riverites  to  "  strike  in,"  without  any  of 
"  Satan's  devices  :"  consequently,  the  presuming  young  man, 
who  had  suggested  an  organ,  was  dismissed  from  the 
church  for  various  venial  offences,  complained  of  by  the 
dictator. 

It  had  certainly  been  trial  enough,  that  she  had  been 
compelled  to  sit  under  a  dripping  stove-pipe,  instead  of 
thumping  her  feet  together,  as  the  old  settlers  did  with 


200  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

godly  zeal,  to  obtain  warmth,  beside  that  of  pitting  in  a 
"  slip,"  instead  of  a  square  pew,  where  she  had  been  able 
see  all  the  children,  and  how  they  behaved,  and  which  was 
m<5st  likely  to  lose  his  acute  angle  of  pie  (her  Sunday 
dinner)  for  not  remembering  the  text — but  these  were  minor 
afflictions  to  her  constant  dread  of  an  organ. 

As  may  well  be  imagined,  Mrs.  Middleton  was  strong  in 
her  prejudices,  and  opposed  to  all  luxuries  and  superfluities, 
believing  that  in  the  "  strait  and  narrow  path "  no  flowers 
grew,  and  that  all  a  Christian  needed,  was  thorns.  It  might 
have  been  slander,  but  it  had  been  surmised,  that  she 
proved  "  one  in  the  flesh  "  to  her  patient  husband. 

It  was  a  trial  to  her  that  her  daughter  possessed  the 
"weakness"  of  her  deceased  husband;  that  of  a  meek 
disposition,  and  a  sensitive  spirit.  Consequently  Mrs. 
Middleton  resolved-  to  educate  her  child  in  a  manner  calcu 
lated,  as  she  believed,  to  counteract  this  inherent  evil,  and 
by  "  thorough  discipline  "  expel  from  her  mind  also  her  lax 
notions  of  liberality  towards  her  fellow  creatures. 

She  had  moulded  the  Mad  Riverites,  and  felt  conscious 
that  the  further  one  travelled  from  the  pale  of  a  fold  so 
righteous,  the  more  corrupt  were  their  associations.  There 
fore  the  lovely  Mary  Middleton  was  placed  under  the  tuition 
of  her  grandfather,  the  venerable  pedagogue  of  the  birch 
rule,  who  in  his  old  age,  had  become  cross  and  irritable  ; 
and  given  up  boys,  from  physical  inability  to  master  them  ; 
in  lieu,  exercising  his  despotism  over  the  gentler  sex. 

Although  perfect  in  her  lessons,  Mary  found  it  no  easy 
task  to  please  her  instructor,  and  finding  that  her  com 
plaints  received  no  audience  at  home,  she  submitted  hope 
lessly  to  the  tyranny  exercised  over  her,  while  trusting  that 
marriage  or  a  revolution  of  some  sort  would  one  day  afford 
her  a  refuge. 

Her  mother  determined  that  she  should  be  well  drilled  in 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  201 

the  dead  languages  (especially  in  Hebrew),  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  other  studies,  and  to  resolutely  instill  into  her  mind 
an  antipathy  to  all  literature,  save  such  as  she  had  herself 
read  (which  knowledge  Mary  had  little  means  of  attaining), 
and  above  all  to  inspire  her  with  an  abhorrence  of  the 
tongue  of  that  "  dreadful  nation,"  the  French. 

Of  New  Orleans  she  had  heard,  and  like  one  of  the 
"  cities  of  the  plain,"  believed  it  doomed  to  be  overwhelmed 
some  day  either  with  fire  or  water. 

Arthur  had  accidentally  met  Mary  Middleton,  and  was 
charmed  with  her  simplicity.  Hearing  of  her  cloistered 
life,  and  the  stern  dominion  under  which  she  was  bred  and 
educated,  he  was  strongly  excited  to  advance  the  acquain 
tance — an  introduction  he  had  the  prudence  to  make  through 
his  grandfather  the  deacon. 

Still  Mrs.  Middleton  eyed  the  young  man  with  suspicion, 
in  consequence  of  his  connection  with  a  step-mother  of  such 
notoriety,  who  was  now  actually  living  in  this  southern 
Gomorrah. 

That  Mr.  Miller  had  separated  from  his  wife,  was  some 
palliation  of  Arthur's  sin  in  being  so  related,  and  under 
the  impression  and  belief  that  he,  like  herself,  saw  the 
justice  of  her  being  swallowed  alive  with  her  child,  when 
the  destruction  of  the  city  should  take  place,  she  was  recon 
ciled  that  he  should  in  consequence  of  the  deacon's  intro 
duction,  visit  her  daughter. 

After  four  years  drilling  and  abuse  from  the  old  school 
master,  Mary  Middleton  was  brought  out  by  her  mamma, 
as  a  pattern  abroad  ;  and  at  home  a  source  of  mortifica 
tion  and  trial,  requiring  severe  censure  and  daily  reprimand 
ing,  for  being  still  so  unlike  her  maternal  relative.  And 
verily  she  seemed  her  antipode,  being  loving,  gentle,  and 
womanly  in  feeling,  with  such  amiable  sweetness  of  charac 
ter  and  demeanor,  as  endeared  her  to  all  who  knew  her. 

9*  v 


202  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  severity  of  her  education,  and  the  gloom  of  a  home 
made  unpleasant  from  its  never  ceasing  doctrinal  disputa 
tions  between  the  elder  branches  ;  and  such  enforcement  of 
arbitrary  rules  among  the  younger,  as  caused  disobedience, 
continued  revolt,  and  consequent  punishment  ;  all  conducing 
to  make  the  more  sweet  and  precious  such  hours  as  she  had 
been  finally  (after  much  conference  between  her  elders), 
permitted  to  pass  with  her  accepted  lover. 

Winter  had  now  succeeded  to  autumn  :  the  scarlet  and 
golden  leaves  no  longer  made  gay  the  brilliant  forests,  or 
fluttered  in  gorgeous  beauty  from  the  boughs  they  had 
seemingly  wreathed  with  living  flames  ;  even  the  poplars 
were  bare,  on  the  banks  of  the  now  frozen  streams,  and  the 
lofty  pine  and  hemlock  alone  stood  green  on  the  denuded 
and  desolate  landscape.  The  top  of  old  Greylock  was 
crested  with  snow,  and  in  the  distance,  the  Catskill  moun 
tains  piled  up  like  gigantic  towers  of  crystal. 

It  was  a  dreary  scene  to  the  lonely  girl,  who  found  so 
little  warmth  and  sunny  brightness  within  ;  but  her  house 
hold  tasks  being  performed,  and  the  younger  children  put 
to  bed,  which  duty  devolved  upon  Mary,  she  sat  down  by 
the  window  of  the  keeping  room,  where  her  grandfather 
napped  and  snored  in  his  arm  chair,  occasionally  starting  and 
raising  his  cane,  as  if  dreaming  of  the  schoolroom,  and  the 
offence  of  some  juvenile.  She  had  brightened  the  fire  on 
the  hearth,  and  prepared  the  old  man's  night-potations  ;  and 
went  forth  to  meet  Arthur,  who  was  coming  to  see  her. 

Her  mind  had  been  during  the  day  frequently  agitated  by 
conversations  overheard,  relative  to  her  engagement. 

She  dared  not  pass  her  grandparent,  lest  she  might  arouse 
him,  and  thus  be  detained  through  his  ill-humor.  Throwing 
a  light  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  she  slid  cautiously  out  of 
the  room,  carefully  lifting  the  latch,  and  thence  out  of  the 
wicket-gate,  now  iced  with  frost. 


THROUGH  THE   WOOD.  203 

She  had  seen  the  approach  of  her  young  suitor,  and 
bounded  lightly  over  the  snow  path,  her  footsteps  leaving  no 
impression  upon  the  hard  crusted  banks. 

Wrapped  in  winter  apparel,  scarcely  seeing  out  of  the 
furred  cap  drawn  down  over  his  ears,  Arthur  Miller  could 
hardly  believe  in  the  fairness  of  his  vision,  when  he  saw  in 
the  distance  the  delicate  girl,  so  lightly  clad. 

The  lane  was  a  long,  lonely  one,  that  led  to  the  secluded 
cottage  ;  and  as  she  came  with  fleet  movements  towards 
him,  her  head  sometimes  veiled  in  her  shawl,  then  bared  to 
the  cold  north  wind,  he  was  not  long  deceived,  but  hastened 
rapidly  towards  her.  With  alarm,  he  wrapped  his  cloak 
around  her,  exclaiming  : 

"  Mary,  what  has  driven  you  forth  in  the  cold  ?  Imprudent 
girl,  how  you  shiver  1" 

With  trembling  fondness,  Mary  Middleton  clung  to  his 
arm,  while  she  breathed  hurriedly  : 

"  Arthur,  I  am  not  cold  now.  Hold  my  hands  tighter — 
they  ache  ;  but  my  heart  is  warmer.  It  is  but  a  luxury  to 
have  you  scold  me,  and  to  know  that  your  eludings  are  the 
harshest  that  I  shall  ever  hear.  Dear  Arthur — don't  let  us  go 
back.  I  am  warm  now.  I  sometimes  think  it  would 
be  better  to  be  for  ever  cold,  than  to  suffer  as  I  do  at 
home." 

"  My  dear  Mary — you  grieve  me — are  you  so  sad  ?  would 
that  I  could  take  you  to-night  under  my  protection.  There 
is  warmth  enough  I  believe  in  my  heart,  for  you.  How  pale 
you  are  looking  !" 

The  features  of  Mary  Middleton  were  delicate  and  fair, 
like  her  father's,  whose  constitution  she  inherited  ;  and  the 
slightest  agitation  produced  a  sensible  alteration  in  her 
appearance.  She  was  fragile  in  person,  with  a  countenance 
full  of  winning  loveliness,  without  extraordinary  beauty  ; 
and  attracted  both  from  her  engaging  manner,  and  a  certain 


204  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

air  of  sadness  that  arose  from  her  situation,  known  to  be 
one  demanding  sympathy. 

"  Arthur,  if  I  return,  I  cannot  come  out  with  you  ;  and  I 
would  not  lose  moments  I  value  so  much.  I  do  not  mind 
that  grandfather  is  cross  ;  but  neither  he  nor  mother  will 
allow  me  to  see  you  alone  ;  and  I  want  to  tell  yon,  that  you 
must  come  some  night,  and  steal  me  away,  for  else  it  may 
be,  that  I  can  never  be  yours." 

"  Mary  !  Mary  1  my  sweet  girl,  be  more  composed,  what 
has  happened  ?  Do  I  not  live  on  the  anticipation  of  the 
time  when  I  can  provide  you  a  home  of  happiness  ?  I  mean 
to  take  you  to  Castlemont,  as  soon  as  the  early  birds  come, 
and  there  you  will  be  the  blithest.  There  my  mother  lived, 
Mary  ;  I  often  fancy  that  you  are  like  her  as  she  was  when  a 
girl.  Cannot  you  trust  me  ?  or  do  you  fear  that  I  shall 
prove  a  renegade  ?" 

"  No,  Arthur,  I  do  not  doubt  you  ;  but  would  you  not 
like  to  know  your  destiny  ?  Oh  !  how  beautiful  the  future  is 
to  me,  how  like  the  gate  of  heaven  its  portal  seems,  when 
with  you  I  shall  live  in  a  world  of  freedom,  without  fetters 
that  daily  grow  more  galling  !  Oh  !  pray  for  me,  that  I  may 
not  hate  true  religion,  in  view  of  its  hollow  mockeries.  It 
is  strange  that  you  should  love  me." 

"  That  I  should  love  the  dearest  girl  on  earth,  save  one  ?" 

"  Save  one  !"  said  Mary,  turning  paler,  "  is  there  another 
that  you  divide  your  heart  with  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  dear  sister." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  her  1" 

"  Not  of  my  little  Jeanie  !" 

"  Let  us  not  talk  of  her." 

Arthur  thought  of  the  absent,  weeping  for  a  mother's 
home,  and  how  miserable  one  still  dearer  was  made,  by  the 
unsatisfied  longings,  its  dearth  of  sweetness  had  pro 
duced. 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  205 

"  Jeanie  is  a  creature  of  cheerful  trusting  faith  ;  Mary, 
learn  to  look  with  unwavering  hope  to  brighter  days,  while 
you  rely  on  a  hand  mightier  than  one  of  earth,  to  bring  you 
to  a  happy  home.  Did  I  not  firmly  believe,  that  ere  two 
months  shall  have  passed,  I  shall  marry  you,  I  could  not 
leave  you  to  doubt,  and  grow  jealous  of  my  love.  Then 
you  cannot  spare  a  corner  of  my  heart  for  Jeanie  ?" 

Again  the  slight  form  shuddered,  while  she  clung  to  the 
arm  of  her  lover.  Her  only  reply  was  :  "  Take  me  to-night, 
or,  I  can  never — never  be  yours." 

"  Mary,  do  you  know  to  what  you  tempt  me  ?  Could  I 
be  dishonorable  to  one  who  has  given  me  so  precious  a 
boon  ?  Could  I  be  treacherous  to  your  mother  ?" 

"  Take  me  before  I  am  taught  to  despise,  as  they  do,  your 
little  sister.  How  they  hate  her,  and  her  dreadful  mother 
and  grandmother  !  Arthur,  don't  love  her  so  much,  she  is 
but  your  half-sister,  and  is  going  to  her  wicked  parent, 
whom  I  can  never  see  :  tell  me  that  you  do  not  love  her — 
tell  mine  and  grandpa  that  you  despise  her  like  your  step 
mother,  and  then  they  will  not  take  me  from  you — other 
wise  my  heart  will  break." 

"  Mary,  is  it  because  you  wish  to  leave  your  home,  or  that 
you  love  me,  that  you  talk  so  insanely  ?" 

"  Oh,  both.  You  must  give  up  Jeanie,  or  me.  I  heard 
them  talking,  and  they  have  learned  that  you  correspond 
with  your  sister,  and  of  all  the  dreadful  things  she  did 
when  she  first  came  to  the  farm  ;  and  how  she  cries  to  go 
back  to  her  awful  mother.  Arthur,  how  I  wish  you  had  not 
this  little  sister  !" 

The  wanderers  had  now  reached  home,  to  which  Arthur 
insisted  upon  returning,  to  re-wrap  his  charge.  Bursting 
into  tears,  the  half  frantic  girl  cried  :  "  Promise  me,  if  they 
ask  you  about  Jeanie,  that  you  will  say  you  do  not  care  for 
her — and  will  give  her  up  as  you  have  her  family  ;  and 


206  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

then,"  the  fond  girl  now  trembled,  clinging  closer,  "  I  am 
yours  never  more  to  part." 

"  Mary,  can  you  ask  me  this  ?  Can  you  bid  me  speak 
falsely,  and  disown  my  pure,  my  angel  sister  ?  No,  Mary, 
not  even  for  you  can  I  do  this.  I  would  sooner  resign  my 
life." 

They  had  now  reached  the  house,  when  the  lovers  entered, 
with  agitation,  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Middleton  and  the  old 
schoolmaster,  Josiah  Skinner. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Miss,"  said  the  former,  "  that  you  have  not 
listened  much  to  the  edification  of  your  soul  to-night,  under 
present  circumstances.  But  as  things  are  coming  to  an  end 
between  you,  it  would  be  well — don't  you  think  so,  father, 
to  settle  these  young  people's  minds  ?" 

"  It  might  be  well  to  know  the  principles  of  this  young 
man,  before  he  carries  a  child  of  yours  from  the  path  of 
godliness,  among  his  unprincipled  connections.  The  girl 
had  better  go  to  bed." 

"  No,  father — let  her  stay,  it  would  be  better  for  her  to 
know  and  feel  the  horror  that  we  both  have  of  a  marriage 
that  will  bring  her  into  contact  with  vice.  Arthur  Miller 
you  have  deceived  me,  and  by  the  wiles  of  Satan,  led  me  to 
believe  that  your  step-mother's  infamous  progeny  was  but  a 
part  and  parcel  of  her  vile  self ;  and  now  from  good 
authority — Betsey  Washburn  don't  lie — I  hear  that  you  write 
to,  and  visit  this  child  of  the  devil,  and  that  she  is  going  on 
to  that  dreadful  Sodom  after  her.  No,  young  man,  my  girl, 
bad  as  she  is,  has  b'een  brought  up  by  one  who  never 
flinched  in  the  path  of  religious  duty ;  and  has  been 
educated  by  one  who,  like  myself,  would  see  her  drop  dead, 
before  he  would  ally  her  to  sin  and  iniquity." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  traduce  my  sister  ?"  said  Arthur  Miller, 
his  eyes  flashing. 

"  Wouldn't  I  cudgel  you  for  that,  you  stripling — if — if  I 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  207 

could  get  my  cane  ?"  The  old  man  attempted  to  reach  his 
staff,  but  fell  backwards  in  his  chair. 

Arthur  now  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  terrified  girl,  who 
gave  him  (her  hands  clasped),  a  look  of  beseeching  elo 
quence. 

The  mother  saw  the  appeal,  and  confronted  her,  saying  : 

"  Mary,  we  do  not  wish  to  take  the  refusal  of  this  young 
man  altogether  on  ourselves.  You  know  that  we  have  both 
had  a  talk  with  you." 

"  Yes,  remember  that,  young  woman." 

"And,"  continued  Mrs.  Middleton,  "  it  is  your  place  now 
to  express  your  mind.  Do  you  wish  to  marry  this  young 
man,  in  view  of  such  an  association  as  his  depraved  sister, 
or  will  you  discard  him,  and  live  as  you  have  done,  in  the 
paths  of  righteousness,  under  the  guidance  of  your  elders 
and  superiors." 

"  Speak,  young  woman."  The  pedagogue  gave  Mary  a 
poke  with  his  stick,  which  he  had  finally  reached. 

No  words  proceeded  from  the  white  lips  of  Mary. 

Arthur  awaited  a  reply,  but  observing  her  silence,  came 
and  stood  before  her  : 

"  Mary,"  said  he  with  an  effort,  "  answer  and  fear  not — 
speak  truly  as  before  God.  Will  you  marry  me,  taking  my 
beloved  sister  to  your  heart  as  your  own — cleaving  unto  her 
until  death  shall  separate  you — or  do  you  here,  in  the 
presence  of  your  mother  and  grandfather,  voluntarily  discard 
me  for  my  love  and  faith  to  her  ?  Fear  not  Mary — he 
courageous — you  may  suffer  for  a  time,  but  God  will  deliver 
you  in  so  just  a  _cause.  Without  compulsion  do  you  give 
me  up  ?" 

The  eyes  of  her  tyrannical  protectors  were  fastened 
upon  hers,  while  eagerly  they  awaited  her  reply. 

"  Yes." 

Like  one  pronouncing  her  own  doom,  the  answering  word 


208  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

came  from  the  lips  of  the  fainting  girl,  who  was  carried  by 
her  mother  in  a  swoon  from  the  room. 

Arthur  Miller  returned  that  night  to  the  farm.  How 
little  the  glad  child  who  met  him  with  outstretched  arms, 
knew  of  the  sacrifice  she  had  cost  him,  or  how  deep  was 
the  grief  of  the  hearts  she  had  so  innocently  torn  asunder. 

"  Oh,  Jeanie  1"  the  lover  murmured  in  the  night's  dark 
watches  :  "  even  in  thy  childhood,  wouldst  thou  have 
defied  the  truth  through  fear,  even  though  that  fear  was 
dreadful  as  thine,  Mary  ?" 

Had  Mary  Middleton  dared  to  confess  the  love,  that  could 
for  him  have  braved  all  ills — have  boldly  clung  to  him 
defending  those  he  loved,  Arthur  Miller  would  have  razed 
the  walls  wherein  she  slept,  to  have  torn  her  from  oppres 
sion  ;  but  the  trembler,  in  her  weakness,  was  but  human,  and 
better  than  he,  knew  the  wrath  that  would  fall  upon  her 
defenceless  head,  with  such  a  declaration. 

Arthur  forgave  and  pitied  her  he  still  loved  too  tenderly, 
but  he  could  not  forget  that  she  had  lacked  the  moral 
courage  to  speak  the  truth. 

In  her  terror  she  had  yielded  to  the  dominion  that  from 
childhood  she  had  never  dared  dispute  ;  and  no  one  but  the 
all-seeing  Eye,  knew  how  full  of  tenderness  for  her  young 
lover,  was  the  heart  which  the  utterance  of  the  cruel 
falsehood  broke. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  209 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  year  succeeding  Jeanie's  visit  to  New  York,  had 
been  one  of  new  heart  experience.  She  had  returned 
to  the  farm  with  her  faith  shaken  in  her  father,  and  as  yet 
resting  upon  no  sure  anchor  of  hope.  She  performed  her 
accustomed  duties,  but  took  longer  rambles  abroad,  and 
rarely  sought  company  as  formerly.  She  seemed  almost  to 
forget  the  book  of  nature  in  the  new  pages  of  thought 
revealed  to  her  mind.  As  her  confidence  in  her  father 

waned,  so  faded  her  trust  in  all  in  whom  she  had  hitherto 

'  / 

confided,  excepting  old  Grandpa  Selden.  He  constituted 
her  favorite  society,  and  by  his  side  she  would  often  sit  for 
hours,  reading  to  him  the  Bible,  while  he  called  her,  as  he 
did  when  she  first  came  to  the  farm,  his  "  lamb."  She  wrote 
and  received  letters  from  her  friends,  and  saved  her  pocket 
allowance  and  enclosed  it  to  Mr.  Hanilin,  for  "  poor  Grand 
ma  Castleman."  She  read  and  re-read  the  books  of  poetry 
the  former  gave  her,  and  expressed  her  admiration  for  many 
beautiful  passages  to  him  with  enthusiastic  fervor.  Her 
language  became  more  soulful  and  expressive  ;  her  eye 
deeper  in  its  beautiful  depths.  She  fast  grew  into  womanly 
proportions  ;  and  from  a  wild,  eager  child,  with  quick,  active 
motions,  changed  to  a  being  of  gentle  fascination. 

With  the  first  warble  of  the  birds  she  was  abroad,  gen 
erally  following  the  brook,  where  amidst  the  rustle  and  mur 
mur  of  leafy  and  humming  things,  she  would  write,  read,  or 
muse.  She  learned  to  ride  upon  horseback,  and  on  a  Shet. 


210  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

laud  sent  her  by  Arthur,  would  go  off  for  miles,  refusing 
an  escort. 

The  change,  although  such  as  her  aunt  had  craved,  half 
alarmed  her.  She  feared  the  effects  of  so  much  absorbing 
thought  upon  Jeanie,  but  since  the  letter  she  had  received 
from  Mr.  Miller  respecting  the  divorce,  she  could  not  again 
revive  the  entire  confidence  of  her  pupil.  Though  more 
kind  and  affectionate  than  of  old,  the  child  was  still 
reserved  ;  and  if  her  father  was  mentioned,  would  seek  some 
excuse  to  flee  from  her  presence. 

She  gathered  and  loved  flowers,  but  soon  threw  them 
away  ;  and  sometimes  would  stop  and  look  at  them,  as  they 
lay  trampled,  as  if,  like  all  else  in  life,  they  had  dissatisfied 
her.  She  loved  to  muse  by  moonlight,  and  when  permitted, 
would  sit  up  until  a  late  hour.  With,  shuddering  fear  she 
trembled,  lest  she  should  begin  to  doubt  the  reality  of  the 
Almighty  presence,  and  that  her  faith  in  divine  promises, 
which  like  a  tremulous  star  had  gleamed  in  the  firmament  of 
her  young  mind,  would  become  veiled  in  darkness.  With 
convictions  of  her  sinfulness,  and  her  want  of  submission  to 
her  destiny,  and  above  all  to  her  heart's  loneliness,  which 
treasured,  as  she  now  believed,  no  worthy  object  of  love,  she 
would  clasp  her  hands,  beseeching  for  strength  to  bear,  and 
for  light  to  illumine  her  path. 

Although  surrounded  by  hearts  mostly  faithful  to  her,  she 
lived  alone.  Her  fervid  imaginings  were  made  more  vivid 
by  the  poetry  which  she  read,  until  her  fancy  was  one  gar 
den  of  flowers  ;  all  of  which  now  seemed  poisoned  and 
blighted.  Like  everything  else,  her  books  finally  ceased  to 
please,  and  with  distorted  views  of  human  nature,  and  dark 
dreams  of  a  future,  the  ripening  Jeanie  sank  despondingly 
beneath  the  clouds  of  disappointment  that  brooded  over  her. 

Jane  Selden  had  watched  with  fearful  interest  the  change 
in  her  pupil,  and  knew  that  it  remained  with  herself  to  gain" 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  211 

the  victory  over  the  evil  warring  in  her  nature  ;  for  such 
she  deemed  the  indulgence  of  selfish  and  silent  murmurings 
against  the  decrees  of  Providence. 

"  Jeanie,"  said  she,  as  the  now  pensive  girl  sat  holding 
her  bird,  moodily  contemplating  some  work  which  she  had 
given  her  to  do  ;  "do  you  know  that  you  are  in  a  state  of 
wicked  rebellion  towards  your  Maker,  for  the  trials  He  has 
given  you  to  bear  meekly  ?  Do  you  think  in  your  weakness 
to  contend  with  His  majesty,  and  turn  aside  His  providen 
ces  ?  '  Knowest  thou  the  ordinances  of  heaven  ?  Canst 
thou  set  the  dominion  thereof  hi  the  earth  ?'  You  sit  for 
hours  looking  at  the  stars,  but  '  Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet 
influences  of  Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bauds  of  Orion  ?' " 

"  Will  He,  so  mighty,  think  of  me,  and  take  away  this 
load  ?"  Jeanie  hid  her  pale  face.  "  I  have  not  thought 
that  I  was  doing  wrong,  but  of  the  injustice  and  sins  of 
others." 

"Is  there  no  need  of  cleansing  and  purifying  our  own 
hearts,  but  that  we  should  seek  to  purge  those  of  others  ? 
Jeanie,  could  we  at  this  moment  control  our  destinies,  choose 
our  own  homes,  our  own  friends,  and  mould  them  to  our 
liking,  should  we  not  hesitate  where  to  go,  and  how  to  com 
mence  this  mighty  reformation  ?  Can  you  not,  with  the 
light  of  the  soul,  trust  as  well  as  the  '  ostrich  who  leaveth 
her  eggs  in  the  earth,  and  warmeth  them  in  the  dust,  and 
forgetteth  that  the  foot  may  crush  them,  or  that  the  wild 
beast  may  break  them  ?'  " 

With  sorrowful  tears,  the  young  girl  wept  and  prayed. 

Slowly,  but  surely,  despair,  with  all  the  leaden  doubts 
that  had  darkened  and  made  heavy  her  spirit,  like  the  mists 
of  morning  faded  from  her  sky,  while  on  her  horizon  stood 
the  beacon  light  of  faith,  a  bright  and  shining  tower.  Over 
and  around  her  gleamed  a  heaven-encircling  rainbow,  telling 
of  hope  sure  and  steadfast. 


212  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

At  the  foot  of  the  Cross  she  laid  her  burden  down,  and  in 
the  Everlasting  arms  sought  for  strength  to  live,  for  grace  to 
bear  and  suffer,  and  in  her  Master's  service  to  live  and  die. 

Mr.  Hamlin's  warbler  had  been  to  Jeanie,  through  her 
period  of  gloom,  her  sole  comforter.  She  nestled,  and  cher 
ished  it  in  her  bosom,  feeding  it  from  her  lips,  until  it  flew 
to  her,  as  she  said,  "  as  if  she  was  home  and  heart  to  little 
Pico." 

If  it  possessed  enhanced  value  to  her  as  the  gift  of  Mr. 
Hamlin,  she  did  not  speak  of  it ;  but  would  often  ask 
Keturah,  if  she  did  not  think  that  he  would  find  his  pet 
looking  prettier  when  he  saw  him  again. 

After  caressing  him  one  day,  and  placing  him  in  his  cage,  she 
stood  watching  with  tender  interest,  his  fluttering  efforts  to 
return  to  her,  which  excited  the  derision  of  Zebedee,  and 
drew  forth  threats,  that  some  day  he  would  "  wring  the  neck 
of  the  little  noisy  squab." 

Not  long  after,  missing  the  early  song  of  her  favorite,  she 
flew  to  the  window  where  she  had  placed  his  cage,  and  dis 
covered  that  it  lay  upon  the  ground  below  ;  and  beside  it, 
little  Pico  stretched  dead.  For  a  time,  she  was  wild  with 
grief  ;  her  efforts  to  restore  life  to  the  bird,  exciting  deeply 
the  pity  of  the  household,  save  the  bachelor,  who  spared  his 
condolements,  and  was  that  day  among  the  missing. 

She  did  not  think  Pico's  enemy  would  purposely  drop  him, 
but  could  not  forget  that  he  had  hated  his  music  and  threat 
ened  his  life.  Nor  until  after  the  death  of  the  bird,  was  she 
aware  how  tenderly  she  had  associated  him  with  his  donor, 
nor  how  deeply  she  sympathized  with  him,  in  a  loss,  she 
fancied  that  he  would  feel  like  herself. 

"  Dear  little  Pico  is  dead !"  she  began  her  letter  to  him.  "  I  know 
that  this  will  be  to  you  sad  news ;  for  you  had  doubtless  begun  to 
love  him  when  you  gave  him  to  me.  The  house  seems  as  if  it  had 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  213 

lost  some  bright  angel  spirit ;  he  was  so  lovely  and  sweet  in  all  his 
moods,  and  they  changed  as  often  as  his  bird-notes.  I  perhaps  loved 
him  better  that  he  came  to  me  when  I  was  very  sad,  and  that  like 
myself,  he  seemed  to  crave  sympathy  and  a  mother's  home.  But 
lie  will  not  come  on-  his  golden  wings  at  my  call,  any  more :  nor  sing 
to  me,  as  if  his  pretty  throat  would  burst  with  his  gleeful  music,  for 
poor  little  Pico  is  dead  and  buried.  I  hope  you  will  not  feel  sad,  if  you 
do,  I  shall  mourn  the  more.  I  cannot  forget  that  you  gave  him  to 
me  to  comfort  me.  No  other  will  ever  take  his  place — your  and  my 
birdie.  I  know  not  the  cause  of  his  death,  but  presume  it  was  an 
accident.  But  as  we  cannot  bring  him  back,  I  will  write  of  other 
things.  I  am  not  miserable  now  as  I  was,  for  I  know  that  there  is  a 
bright  and  a  dark  side  to  every  landscape ;  and  that  it  is  as  wicked 
not  to  enjoy  the  sunshine,  as  not  to  be  resigned  to  the  shadows.  I 
have  learned  to  love  poetry,  and  now  that  I  have  read  it  inverse,  I  feel 
that  I  have  enjoyed  it  before,  though  it  was  unwritten  ;  and  that  my 
dreamings  have  been  of  the  same  nature ;  and  when  I  have  wandered 
alone,  it  has  been  poetry  that  has  often  made  the  sky  seem  so '  blue, 
and  the  flowers  and  trees  so  beautiful,  because  others  who  have 
been  with  me,  have  only  seen  cold  dull  things.  I  have  found  rich 
enjoyment  in  the  books  you  gave  me,  and  have  often  wished  I  could 
hear  you  repeat  the  sweet  words  in  them.  I  am  glad  that  I  am  going 
South  with  you — I  will  be  a  better  listener  now.  How  we  shall  both 

miss  little  Pico ! 

"  JEANIE." 

Mr.  Hamlin  was  pleased  with  the  confiding  tone  of  the 
letter,  and  not  realizing  the  change  which  had  occurred  in 
her,  since  they  parted,  still  thought  of  her  as  the  wild, 
eager  and  impulsive  child.  He  wrote  her  a  consoling 
reply,  promising  her  another  bird,  and  closed  with  a  propo 
sal  to  take  her  South  in  the  autumn. 

With  the  change  in  Jeauie's  religious  feelings,  she  became 
more  cheerful,  though  her  moods  were  generally  of  a  pensive" 
character.  She  now  loved  the  worship  of  her  Heavenly 
Father  ;  and  in  the  exercise  of  her  sweet  and  hopeful  faith, 
found  serene  happiness.  The  union  of  her  parents,  was  yet 
the  fond  desire  of  her  heart,  but  she  thought  of  the  possi- 


214  THE~ TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

bility  with  less  sanguine  emotion  than  formerly  •,  and  more 
resignedly  submitted  to  the  trials,  incident  upon  their  sepa 
ration. 

To  Aunt  Jane,  she  grew  tender  and  devoted,  endeavoring 
to  soothe  her  for  the  pain  she  had  caused,  in  her  period  of 
alienation  from  her  ;  and  so  wound  herself  about  the  hearts 
of  the  old  people,  that  they  were  miserable  if  she  was  out 
of  their  presence.  Keturah  worshipped  her,  and  even 
Zebedee,  after  being  so  careless  with  her  bird,  brought  her 
home  a  brook-crab  in  a  bottle,  which  being  the  first  and  only 
act  of  generosity  towards  her  known  of,  was  returned  with 
a  smile,  Keturah  said,  that  was  good  enough  for  a  "  pond  of 
gold-fish,  and  a  plaguy  sight  too  much,  for  such  a  dreadful 
murderer." 

Since  her  fourteenth  birth-day,  Jeanie's  hair  had  been 
allowed  to  grow  ;  and  now,  though  not  long,  lay  soft  arid 
rich  about  her  model  head,  its  hue,  dark  brown  :  in  the  suiir 
light,  it  wore  its  childhood's  golden  gleams.  Her  features 
and  complexion  grew  more  like,  but  not  as  brilliant  as  her 
mother's.  She  was  fairer,  more  strictly  a  blonde,  her  face 
possessing  not  the  same  dazzling  character,  thus  differing 
from  Elinor  Castleman  at  her  age.  There  was  not  so  much 
majesty,  if  grace,  in  her  firm,  elastic  step,  and  less  of  com 
mand.  She  won  more  by  her  expression,  and  the  sweet 
tones  of  her  voice,  while  her  unassuming,  unpretending 
demeanor,  indicated  a  disposition  curbed,  and  taught  to 
yield.  She  was  now  fully  grown,  and  in  the  first  blush  of 
womanhood.  Her  laugh  had  come  back,  and  though  less 
gay  than  of  old,  was  contagious  in  its  ringing  melody.  Her 
countenance  changed,  with  the  play  of  feeling — now  flashing 
•with  the  hue  of  the  rose,  as  her  sense  of  the  ridiculous  was 
touched  ;  and  as  suddenly  paling  with  an  emotion  of  pity,  or 
with  the  awakening  of  deeper  thoughts. 

She  recalled  her  father  with  love,  but  love  divested  of  its 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  215 

holy  reverence  ;  and  for  her  mother,  her  fond  ideal,  she  felt 
unqualified  adoration. 

She  thought  that  she  could  never  love  any  one  as  much 
as  Arthur,  and  was  enthusiastic  in  her  desire  to  see  his 
"  beautiful  Mary."  He  had  never  told  her  of  the  dissolu 
tion  of  his  engagement. 


The  development  of  our  tale  requires  a  retrograde  step 
in  its  narration,  and  the  introduction  of  the  reader  to  the 
home  of  Mr.  Hamlin,  or  to  the  family  of  one  who  occupies 
a  conspicuous  position  in  its  pages. 

Mrs.  Larkfield,  his  mother,  had  married  some  ten  years 
after  the  death  of  her  first  husband,  the  child  of  which  con 
nection  was  an  idolized  son,  who  bore  the  name  of  Ealph. 

It  will  perhaps  occasion  surprise,  that  one  so  little  known 
in  his  domestic  relations  as  Philip  Hamlin,  should  have 
been  a  devoted  son,  and  a  faithful  affectionate  brother  and 
guardian,  to  this  boy  of  his  parent's  second  marriage. 

Like  himself,  Ralph  had  been  left  fatherless  at  an  early 
age,  and  being  handsome  and  talented,  became  the  darling 
and  pride  of  his  mother,  and  to  his  elder  brother  from'  his 
reckless  habits,  as  much  an  object  of  painful  solicitude. 
Since  a  child,  he  had  watched  over  him  with  almost 
parental  care,  educating  him  in  a  manner  suiting  the  ambi 
tion  of  his  fond,  proud  mother.  To  Philip,  she  had  been 
comparatively  indifferent,  and  loved  him  chiefly  as  a 
source  of  benefit  and  luxury  to  her  darling  and  youngest 
child. 

At  the  period  of  our  story,  Ealph  Larkfield,  in  his 
nineteenth  year,  had  already  involved  Philip  Hamlin  in  an 
accumulation  of  trouble.  Though  not  naturally  vicious,  yet 
heedless  of  consequences,  he  rushed  precipitately,  and  with 
headlong  rashness,  into  scenes  of  dissipation,  where  he 


216  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

% 

became  a  prey  to  the  snares  of  accomplished  intriguer?,  and 
the  victim  of  his  own  folly  and  imprudence. 

Money  wasted  like  water  in  his  hands,  and  notwithstand 
ing  the  rigid  principle  of  his  brother,  who  denied  him 
means  for  wasteful  expenditure,  he  would  still  manage  by 
strategem  to  incur  heavy  debts,  thereby  occasioning  Philip 
constant  trouble  to  afford  him  relief. 

While  these  demands  were  not  ruinous  to  his  income,  for 
the  sake  of  his  mother,  and  that  she  might  be  kept  in 
ignorance  of  the  course  of  her  son,  Philip  met  them  unmur- 
muringly,  but  the  period  came  when  in  addition  to  extrav 
agance  and  the  dissipation  of  boyhood,  were  added  the  debts 
of  the  profligate  and  gambler. 

Still  by  personal  sacrifices,  Philip  Hamlin  continued  to 
pay  sums  for  horses,  wines,  and  such  luxuries  as  the  habits 
of  his  brother  involved,  until,  finally,  heavier  calls  were 
made,  to  save  him  from  public  exposure. 

The  case  required  a  larger  amount  to  compromise  its 
claims,  than  Mr.  Hamlin  could  conveniently  command,  and 
in  his  extremity  he  applied  to  Mr.  Miller. 

With  characteristic  benevolence,  the  latter  aided  the 
youth,  but  with  such  severity  of  censure,  that  Ralph  fully 
realized  he  had  experienced  all  the  help  he  would  ever  render 
him  under  like  circumstances.  The  magnanimity  of  the 
act,  and  the  essential  service  rendered  his  brother,  was  an 
obligation  that  lay  heavy  at  the  heart  of  his  friend.  He 
felt  that  no  sum  could  ever  cancel  the  debt — no  return  ever 
repay  the  kindness  extended  his  family,  for  by  it  they  had 
been  saved  a  son's  dishonored  name,  at  an  age  when 
condemnation  might  have  completed  his  ruin. 

Rash,  erring,  and  faulty,  as  Ralph  Larkfield  had  become, 
he  was  what  the  world  calls  generous  and  noble.  His 
bearing  was  affectionate,  even  fascinating.  Like  many 
others  of  the  same  stamp,  he  had,  after  a  childhood  of 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  217 

indulgence,  and  freedom  from  restraint,-  been  led  by  evil 
example,  and  bis  own  reckless  impulses,  into  vicious  habits — 
determining  hourly  to  abandon  his  excesses. 

To  effect  the  reformation  promised,  Mr.  Miller  engaged 
the  services  of  Ralph  in  his  own  employment,  offering  him 
rich  compensation  for  the  fulfillment  of  his  duties,  when  the 
latter  left  New  Orleans,  the  theatre  of  his  dissipation,  and 
commenced  life  anew  in  New  York. 

Overcome  with  the  generous  and  efficient  service  rendered 
him,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  Ralph  Larkfield  entered  on 
his  new  duties  with  energy  and  determination  to  redeem  his 
character,  hoping  in  time  to  liquidate  the  debt  for  which  he 
was  obligated.  But  it  was  long  before  he  could  conquer  his 
love  for  pleasure  ;  and  but  for  his  brother,  after  his  install 
ment  into  his  new  office,  he  had  lost  for  ever  the  confidence 
of  his  generous  employer. 

Complaints  were  secretly  made  to  Philip,  which  gave  rise 
to  an  interview. 

Meeting  him  as  usual,  Ralph  extended  his  hand,  and  with 
his  gay  fearless  manner  addressed  him  :  "  What  now,  brother 
Phil  ?  are  you  in  any  infernal  scrape,  that  you  want  my 
assistance  ?" 

For  the  first  time  his  hand  was  refused. 

"  Ralph  !  I  have  done  with  you — you  may  go  to  ruin  from 
this  day,  before  I  will  ever  appear  again  as  your  advocate. 
But  for  my  influence  where  would  you  have  been  now  ?  I 
have  indulged,  aided,  and  warned  you  until  I  have  exhausted 
my  patience,  and  drained  my  purse." 

"Philip,"  interrupted  the  young  man,  throwing  the 
hair  from  his  handsome  brow,  "by  all  that's  good  I 
swear — " 

"  I  will  hear  none  of  your  profanity.  I  want  no  oaths  to 
confirm  your  words — indeed  I  want  no  words — give  me  your 
acts,  or  rest  assured  from  this  time  forth,  I  will  cast  you 

10 


218  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

off,  as  I  -would  a  thankless  dog.  I  am  incensed,  and  Mr. 
Miller's  confidence  in  you  has  been  outraged.  Where  is 
your  gratitude,  or  your  love  for  your  mother  ?" 

"  I  do  mean  to  pay  off  the  old  fellow.  By  the  eyes  of 
Araminta — and  the  keys  of  St.  Peter,  I  will.  Now  Brother 
Phil,  don't  look  as  savage  as  an  Arab.  I  have  played  my 
last  card,  drunk  my  last  bottle  of  cognac,  and  bid  adieu  to 
my  last  sweetheart.  Expensive  delicacies  all  of  them. 
Think  of  the  bracelets  I  have  given  Miss  Adelaide  Sera- 
phina  Sophinisby.  But  as  the  Emperor  Solomon  said  :  '  all  is 
vanity  ;'  and  after  this,  I  am  the  Hon.  Archibald  Miller's 
private  and  public  secretary  ;  and  intend  to  associate  with 
no  individual,  but  my  virtuous  greyhound,  who  has  not 
one  vicious  habit.  Gome  Phil,  what's  the  use  playing 
parson  over  me  ?  I  tell  you  on  the  honor  of  a  gentle 
man — " 

"I  should  like  less  talk,  and  more  sobriety  of  manner," 
said  the  brother,  frowning. 

"  Philip,  you  know  the  family  failing.  Hasn't  our  beloved 
mamma  the  longest  and  sweetest  tongue  in  the  world  ?  and 
my  elder  brother  a  sharp  and  two-edged  sword,  made  .of 
Damascus  steel  ?" 

"  How  can  you  refer  to  a  mother  whose  voice  is  so  little 
regarded  ?  If  your  brother's  severe  language  is  unheeded, 
let  hers  come  over  your  memory  whispering  its  warnings. 
As  for  me — neither  in  anger  or  sorrow  will  I  ever  again 
address  you  by  way  of  reproof." 

"Give  me  your  hand,  Philip,"  said  Ralph,  the  tears 
starting  to  his  eyes.  "  Take  my  word  once  more.  You 
have  been  more  than  a  thousand  brothers  to  me.  Give  me 
your  hand." 

Philip  Hamlin  was  again  moved  to  compassion.  Feeling 
quivered  his  lip,  and  moistened  his  eyes.  He  took  in  his 
grasp  the  outstretched  palm  of  the  impulsive  youth. 


WOOD.  219 


"  Once  more  I  take  your  word,  against  my  resolution, 
and  may  God  strengthen  you  to  keep  it." 

Ralph  Larkfield  returned  to  his  business,  impressed  with 
the  interview  with  his  brother.  He  had  never  before  seen 
him  so  deeply  incensed,  never  when  pity  and  sorrow  had 
not  seemed  to  prevail  over  his  anger.  He  was  for  the  first 
time,  alarmed.  He  had  believed  as  firmly  in  his  brother's 
fidelity,  as  in  that  of  his  mother.  He  could  not  forget  that 
he  had  refused  him  his  hand.  For  a  while,  he  was  Hespond- 
ing,  reserved  and  gloomy.  This  mood  was  succeeded  by  a 
deportment  and  bearing  indicative  of  self-respect,  and 
pride  of  character.  He  was  not  so  tall  as  Philip,  but 
;ed  more  suppleness  and  grace,  with  less  dignity  of 
presence.  Fresh  and  joyous  in  manner,  his  conversations 
often  sparkled  with  wit,  and  were  replete  with  illustrative 
anecdote. 

With  Mr.  Miller,  he  became  a  favorite  and  the  partner 
of  Arthur  in  a  successful  business.  The  devotion  of  the 
brother  to  his  sister  was  more  evident  after  the  dissolution 
of  his  engagement  to  Mary  Middleton. 

He  wrote  to  her,  begging  her  to  say  that  she  repented  of 
her  decision,  and  not  to  deceive  him  on  a  point  of  such 
vital  interest  to  him,  but  that  if,  like  her  mother,  she  had 
sincerely  desired  him  to  abandon  Jeanie,  that  such  a  truth, 
painful  as  it  would  be,  he  wished  to  know  from  herself. 

He  received  a  prompt  reply,  written  in  trembling  char 
acters  : 

"  I  am  permitted  to  write  you,  Arthur — but  it  is  only  to  say  again 
farewell — farewell  for  ever !  I  am  dying,  Arthur,  and  as  I  would  not 
be  drawn  from  thoughts  of  a  better  world,  and  should  sin  perhaps 
in  loving  you  too  much,  it  is  better  that  we  were  separated.  If  your 
sister  were  like  you,  I  might  have  loved  her,  but  I  have  been  taught  to 
believe  that  she  is  the  type  of  her  mother,  beautiful  and  unprinci 
pled,  and  will  hewitch  and  lead  to  destruction  those  she  is  with. 


220  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

Beware  of  her,  dear  Arthur,  and  strive  to  resist  her  influence  ;  I  might 
not  have  had  the  strength  to,  and  so  it  is  better  that  we  parted. 
My  life  has  been  a  dark  one,  but  heaven  will  be  the  brighter  for  it. 
They  are  more  kind  to  me,  but  sometimes  1  wish  that  I  could  have 
you  put  your  cloak  around  me,  as  you  did  that  cold  night,  for  I  am 
often  colder  now.  It  was  a  sweet  passage  in  my  life,  when  we  loved 
each  other.  Forgive  me  that  I  said  what  must  have  seemed  to  you 
untrue ;  for  in  view  of  the  dreadful  consequences,  if  I  adhered  to 
you,  I  could  not  do  it.  I  am  too  timid,  too  weak,  for  your  strong, 
courageous  heart,  but  not  the  less  your  loving 

"MARY." 

With  grief  Arthur  perused  this  letter.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  fly  to  the  idolized  one,  and  if  she  was  among  the 
living,  carry  her  from  those  who  were,  as  he  believed,  killing 
her  with  their  tyranny  and  bigoted  teachings.  Had  the 
days  of  witchcraft  existed,  where  would  have  been  his 
darling  sister,  if  the  representations  of  these  cold  blooded 
people,  had  been  taken  against  her  ?  But  should  he  fail  to 
rescue  her,  would  not  her  situation  be  made  worse  ? 

With  a  heart  full  of  pity  and  love  for  the  timid,  fond 
girl,  whose  weakness  of  resolution  was  her  only  fault,  he 
was  consoled  with  the  consciousness  that  he  had  fulfilled  his 
duty  to  one  to  whom,  in  her  days  of  infancy,  he  had  vowed 
fidelity.  The  sacrifice  cost  him  such  anguish,  as  he  felt 
time  could  not  heal,  and  that  the  door  of  his  happiness  would 
for  ever  close,  when  death  sealed  the  blue  eyes  of  Mary. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  221 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

IT  was  late  in  the  winter  when  Jeanie  prepared  for  her 
journey  South,  and  a  sad  day  to  the  good  people  at  the 
farm,  who  had  so  long  loved  her,  and  watched  over  her 
childhood.  She  awoke  with  a  thrill  of  joy,  while  crowding 
on  her  fancy  came  sweet  anticipations  of  a  delightful  trip, 
with  a  termination  so  blissful.  In  a  few  short  days  she 
would  be  clasped  to  the  heart  of  her  beloved  mother.  She 
read  and  re-read  her  last  fond  letter,  and  closed  it,  kissing  it 
as  a  sacred  thing.  Then  went  up  from  her  heart  a  prayer 
for  the  guardianship  of  her  Heavenly  Father,  and  a  blessing 
on  her  humble  efforts  to  unite  her  parents. 

Imagination  and  inexperience  in  the  world's  wanderings, 
had  magnified  to  the  old  people  the  distance,  and  the  perils 
of  the  anticipated  journey ;  though  lightly  were  they 
esteemed  in  comparison  with  the  dangers  that  would  beset 
her  path  under  influences  they  deemed  irreligious  and  cor 
rupt. 

With  trembling  fears,  they  .looked  upon  the  event  that 
was  to  separate  them  from  one  who  had  been  to  them  as  a 
child.  With  tears  trickling  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  the 
old  man  closed  his  morning  prayer,  with  a  petition  that  God 
would  bring  baek-4<$.4hem  in  his  good  time,  this  "ewe  lamb," 
that  had  been  "  imt$  them  a  daughter,"  and  to  preserve 
her  pure  in  His  signt,  enabling  her  to  resist  the  allurements 
of  such  as  were  "Clothed  in  scarlet,"  with  other  vanities — 
who  put  on  "  ornaments  of  gold  upon  their  apparel,"  and 


222  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

instead,  to  deck  her  in  the  "  garb  of  righteousness."  Then 
to  "  Him,  who  shall  have  dominion  also  from  sea  to  sea,  and 
from  the  river  unto  the  ends  of  the  earth,"  he  commended 
her — to  the  God  of  the  Israelites,  and  that  like  them  she 
might  find  manna  in  the  wilderness,  and  as  in  the  daytime 
He  led  them  with  a  cloud,  and  all  the  night  with  a  light  of 
fire,  so  might  she  be  guided  in  safety  to  the  distant  land  to 
which  she  was  going. 

Sobs  burst  from  the  simple,  affectionate  beings  assembled 
around  that  humble  hearthstone  ;  among  whom  now  knelt 
.the  forms  of  Arthur  and  Mr.  Hamlin. 

With  pensive  sweetness,  Jeanie  met  their  morning  saluta 
tions,  and  with  her  arm  in  Arthur's,  wandered  over  her  old 
haunts,  to  bid  farewell  to  each  remembered  spot,  even  to  the 
wood-shed  and  garret,  the  frolic-grounds  of  her  childhood. 
Here  she  stooped  to  fondle  the  old  cat,  and  her  new  family 
of  kittens  ;  and  to  clasp  in  her  arms  "  little  Dick,"  (who  is  an 
old  goat  now),  and  to  kiss  the  last  little  pet  lamb  given  her 
by  grandpa  ;  then  off  into  the  meadows  she  roved,  to  say 
good-bye  to  the  farmers,  in  whose  rough  palms  she  laid  her 
little  hand,  with  brimming  eyes  bidding  them  farewell. 
With  a  last  look  at  the  brook,  now  frozen,  she  returned  to  the 
house.  Seeing  Mr.  Hamlin  viewing  her  from  the  window, 
she  went  in  and  timidly  towards  him,  telling  him  to  come 
with  her  to  little  Pico's  grave.  Over  it  she  had  planted  a 
shrub  of  myrtle,  and  through  the  snow  from  it  plucked  a 
leaf,  kissing  it,  as  if  it  were  the  bright  wing  of  her  pretty 
favorite. 

"  Little  Pico  is  blessed  to  be  so  remembered,"  said  he, 
watching  the  beautiful  girl,  so  changed  since  he  saw  her  last. 

"  Wasn't  he  a  blessing  to  me  ?"  Jeanie  looked  up  grate 
fully.  "  Oh  1  it  was  love  so  sweet  and  trusting,  and  he  was 
so  helpless." 

"  I  wish  I  had  such  a  little  bird,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  smiling. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  223 

"  We  shall  never  have  another  Pico  ; 

•  It  is  hope  which  lifts  the  lark  so  high, 
Hope  of  a  lighter  air  and  bluer  sky.1 

We  then  will  not  despair,  though  our  Pico  comes  in  some 
other  guise.  Do  you  know,  Jeanie,  that  we  must  soon  say 
,good-bye  ?" 

"  It  is  a  sad  word.  Poor  aunt  has  gone  away  to  weep, 
and  Keturah  is  flying  around  wiping  her  eyes,  as  if  she  was 
both  mad  and  grieved.  Oh  dear  !  poor  grandpa  !  and 
grandma  !" 

"  And  where  is  Mr.  Flint  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  to  the  village  ;  he  never  bids  any  one 
good-bye." 

The  family  had  all  assembled,  each  one  quietly  assisting 
their  young  charge  hi  her  preparations  to  depart — grand 
ma  smoothing  down  the  folds  of  her  dress,  while  Aunt  Jane, 
with  gentle,  caressing  touch,  put  aside  the  hair  that  fell  over 
her  cheek,  adjusting  it  more  neatly  under  the  simple  hat,  in 
which,  half  shaded  by  an  ample  veil,  the  young  innocent 
face  was  ambushed.  Keturah,  iu  the  meanwhile,  with  many 
tears  and  sighs,  and  much  tribulation,  was  busy  with 
some  kind  of  a  bag,  in  which  she  was  tucking  cakes  and 
apples.  Old  Vulcan  seemed  active  with  nose  and  tongue 
performances,  significant  of  his  grief,  while  on  the  mat  little 
Mink  awaited  the  leave-taking  to  unroll  and  bark  his 
adieu. 

The  parting  over,  by  the  side  of  her  protector,  amidst  the 
whirr,  the  rumbling,  the  confusion  attendant  upon  railroad 
travelling,  she  is  borne  away  from  her  country  home.  Robed 
for  her  journey,  Mr.  Hamlin  again  observed  a  likeness  in  his 
young  companion,  which  never  impressed  him  pleasantly. 
It  had  at  first  prejudiced  him  against  Jeanie.  He  was  dis 
appointed,  on  his  arrival  at  the  farm,  to  see  the  growth  of 


224  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

one  he  had  ever,  and  would  still  look  upon  as  a  child  ;  and 
on  starting  she  was  embarrassed  to  find  herself  alone  for  so 
long  a  period  with  one  she  had  so  little  known.  Pico,  she 
fancied,  had  made,  a  bond  between  them,  but  she  could  not 
feel  so  free  to  talk  and  ask  favors  of  him  as  she  had  done  on 
her  previous  journey.  She  knew  not  why.  Perhaps  it  was 
that  he  was  more  ceremonious  with  her. 

Then  again,  so  still  and  quiet  she  seemed,  Mr.  Hamlin 
almost  forgot,  as  he  occasionally  glanced  at  her,  that  he  had 
other  than  the  little  Jeanie  of  old,  under  his  charge.  The 
tiny,  nicely  gaitered  foot,  he  could  not  fail  to  see,  as  it  cosily 
rested  near  his  own  ;  and  so  much  attention  was  required  to 
the  comfortable  position  of  the  young  traveller,  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  not  to  feel  that  some  tenderness  was  re 
quired  in  the  care.  At  times  she  seemed  to  him  infantile  as  the 
dancing  child  he  first  saw,  so  innocent  and  pure-looking  was 
the  rapt  face,  now  seen  in  profile.  While  she  was  dreamily 
gazing  forth  from  the  car  windows,  he  watched  the  rise  and 
fall  of  her  white  lids  ;  and  the  uplifting  of  the  eyes  they 
veiled,  the  expression  of  which  he  could  not  fix  upon  him 
self  ;  although  he  sometimes  caught  a  look  which  blinded 
him — carrying  him  into  the  past.  He  felt  at  liberty  to  scan 
one  who  was  but  half  his  years — knowing,  too,  that  she  was 
occupied  with  her  own  thoughts,  and  would  not  regard  his 
cognizance  of  her  speculations  which  were  broken  in  upon 
by  the  stopping  of  the  tram,  Mr.  Miller  at  the  time  awaiting 
their  arrival. 

The  interview  was  brief  and  affectionate  between  the 
father  and  his  child,  who  had  met  but  the  week  previous  ; 
when  again,  the  travellers  went  on — Jeauie  talking  more, 
but  it  was  of  her  parent,  who  had  seemed  to  her,  in  failing 
health. 

With  some  comforting  words,  indicative  of  his  solicitude 
for  the  invalid,  he  silently  observed  her,  satisfied  that  it  had 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  225 

lain  in  his  power  to  be  of  use  to  one  so  innocent  and  help 
less. 

While  he  sat  beside  her,  thinking,  night  came  on  ;  the 
pictures  out  the  window  grew  dim  and  indistinct  ;  the  engine 
whistled,  shrieked,  and  tore  ahead  ;  the  cars  flew  madly 
through  the  night  air,  as  if  by  genii  borne  ;  the  sparks 
came  in  showers  on  the  vision  of  the  young  traveller,  causing 
her  to  look  towards  him  and  say,  "  How  beautiful  1"  He 
echoed  her  words,  but  was  not  thinking  of  the  sparks.  The 
twinkle  of  a  lantern  threw  but  a  dim  light  over  her,  who  had 
suddenly  grown  older  to  his  imagination ;  for  he  had 
awakened  to  the  fact,  that  it  was  no  longer  the  little 
Jeanie,  but  a  tall,  beautiful  girl,  with  sleepy,  half-shut  feyes, 
and  languid  form,  who  sat  breathing  near  him. 

She  was  "  Very — very  tired." 

"  When  shall  we  stop  ?" 

"  Unless  you  desire  the  delay,  we  will  ride  through  the 
night.  I  think  I  can  make  you  comfortable." 

"  And  be  one  day  nearer  mamma  ?" 

"Yes,"  and  Mr.  Hamlin  thought,  twelve  hours  nearer  to 
him.  "  I  will  arrange  matters  so  that  you  can  sleep." 

"  I  can  keep  awake."  Jeanie  brightened,  like  a  sleepy 
kitten  roused,  while  she  shrunk  from  an  arm  that  would 
have  drawn  her  to  a  resting-place  upon  it.  Mr.  Hamlin 
made  no  opposition  to  the  retreat,  and  arranged  a  pillow  for 
her. 

He  then  composed  himself ;  but  his  hat  fell  off — his  head 
bobbed  like  other  bobbing  heads,  and  there  was  a  car  full 
of  them,  revealed  in  the  near  approach  of  a  light,  which 
suddenly  awoke  him.  He  had  rested  one  arm,  while  he 
cramped  the  other  ;  and  had  no  sooner  become  conscious  of 
his  own  identity,  than  he  was  called  upon  to  show  his 
tickets.  This  reminded  him  that  he  had  two,  and  that  one 
belonged  to  the  fair  sleeper  near  him, 

10* 


226  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

He  tried  to  doze  again,  but  while  wondering  why  a  woman 
in  the  seat  adjoining  carried  her  luggage  in  her  arms,  sud 
denly  as  out  of  no  other  engine,  came  a  shriek  shrill  and 
piercing — he  saw  no  smoke,  but  was  conscious  of  great  com 
motion,  and  discovered  that  the  object  of  the  disturbance 
was  human. 

The  noise  awakened  Jeanie.  He  wondered  impatiently  why 
women,  such  ugly  ones,  travelled  with  such  small  encum 
brances.  Mr.  Hamlin  was  provoked,  yet  consoled,  for  fresh 
attentions  were  now  required  for  his  youthful  charge.  They 
became  a  pleasanter  task.  The  conviction  that  he  was  no 
longer  young,  for  the  first  time  crept  unpleasantly  over  him. 
But  if  younger,  would  she  have  been  confided  so  trustingly 
to  his  care?  Unconsciously  his  tones  grew  affectionate, 
while  he  expressed  solicitude  for  her  night's  comfort.  She 
was  only  sleepy.  The  third  time,  she  fell  off  from  her 
uneasy  cushion,  when  he  drew  towards  him  the  unconscious 
head. 

Jeanie  now  reposed  quietly,  without  knowledge  of  his 
devotion.  So  Philip  Hamlin  passed  the  night — dozing, 
dreaming,  and  cherishing  the  child  of  his  friend. 

By  dawn,  she  awoke  refreshed.  Bewilderedly  she  sought 
another  position,  and  was  busy  recalling  her  senses,  when 
Mr.  Hamlin  ceremoniously  bade  her  "  good  morning."  If 
not  as  invigorated  as  when  awakened  by  the  robins  at  the 
farm,  with  brightened  looks  she  welcomed  daylight.  Her 
protector  thought  her  ungrateful,  but  with  renewed  pleasure 
enjoyed  her  inspiring  cheerfulness.  He  was  sometimes 
annoyed  that  she  attracted  the  observation  of  strangers, 
and  chagrined  when  asked  if  he  had  his  daughter  with 
him. 

For  the  first  time  she  inquired  respecting  his  family,  and 
marvelled  that  she  had  not  heard  of  his  younger  brother. 
She  thought  Ralph  Larkfield  a  euphonious  name,  and 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  227 

hoped  yet  to  know  Mm,  but  was  confident  she  could  never 
like  any  one  as  well  as  Arthur. 

"  How  did  he  make  you  so  partial  to  him  ?"  queried  Mr. 
Hamliu. 

"  That  is  a  strange  question."  Jeanie  smiled.  "  I  felt  a 
little  badly,  when  I  knew  another  was  dearer  to  him  than 
his  sister  ;  but  I  believe  I  have  cured  my  selfishness." 

"  Could  you  resign  him  entirely,  if  his  happiness  required 
it?" 

"  That  would  be  a  hard  struggle  ;  but  I  believe  any  sac 
rifice  can  be  made,  with  a  great  effort." 

"  I  am  not  positive  that  a  great  sacrifice  is  inconsistent 
with  a  love  of  self.  We  may  be  so  incorporated  with  the 
interests  of  one  we  love,  that  sympathy  is  so  strongly 
excited,  that  their  joys  and  griefs  become  our  own.  The 
effort  to  be  sublime  must  be  for  one  for  whom  we  have 
never  felt  an  emotion  of  gratitude,  and  from  whom  we 
expect  no  return." 

"  Still  this  might  be  selfishness,"  said  Jeanie,  "  if  the  act 
was  not  secret,  and  even  then,  such  generosity  might  make 
one  vain." 

"  Yes,  people  are  often  proud  of  their  own  humility.  The 
study  of  one's  motives  is  a  great  one.  Such  analysis  is 
profitable  ;  to  do  good  disinterestedly  approaches  nearer 
our  Saviour's  deeds  than  the  most  rigid  performance  of 
external  rites." 

"  It  must  afford  one  a  good  deal  of  happiness  to  be  able 
to  do  good." 

"  Such  lies  in  a  measure  in  the  power  of  all.  Great 
charities  are  not  the  sole  means  of  happiness.  Those 
who  in  daily  life  make  sweet  and  peaceful  their  private 
sphere,  who  elevate  the  aspirations  of  the  menial,  by  the 
inspiration  of  a  cheerful  word  and  tone  of  sympathy,  and 
spare  not  the  trifling  service  costing  little,  yet  invaluable 


228  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

to  them,  may  feel  the  satisfaction  of  doing  good.  There 
are  few  who  are  as  prodigal  of  gentle,  courteous  words  to  the 
infirm  and  aged,  and  have  for  children  the  smiles  they  bestow 
for  self-interest.  Wealth  is  not  necessary  for  such  kindness." 

"  Is  the  world  so  selfish  ?" 

"  I  wish  there  were  more  possessing  the  spirit  of  little 
children  in  it.  Those  who  do  not  love  them  are  not  always 
aware  of  their  reason  for  the  dislike  :  they  are  themselves 
too  artificial  to  find  sympathy  with  guilessness." 

"  You  mean  that  amendment,  as  well  as  charity,  should 
begin  at  home  ?"  said  Jeanie. 

"  Yes,,and  to  end  my  prosing,  I  consider  that  the  eleva 
tion  of  the  mind,  and  the  formation  of  character,  should 
constitute  the  main  study  of  life.  I  do  not  believe  in  faith 
without  works,  neither  in  works  without  purity  of  motive  in 
their  performance — and  that  those  who  would  form  a 
standard  on  which  to  live  and  act,  should  do  it  on  a  solid 
and  sure  basis.  We  should  pierce  as  with  a  needle,  the 
intricate  web  of  thought,  and  unravel  each  mesh,  in  the 
great  study  of  the  mind,  that  we  may  know  of  what  our 
principles  are  composed.  Prejudice  and  self-indulgence 
do  much  to  crush  benevolence  in  the  heart.  That  we  do 
not  like  people,  their  looks  or  manners,  is  no  reason  for 
not  aiming  to  throw  our  influence  in  the  scale,  which  lightens 
the  burdens  they  may  bear." 

"But  after  all,  our  goodness,  if  we  have  any,  is  of  no 
help  to  us  as  a  means  of  reliance,"  said  Jeanie  hesitatingly. 

"  But  does  it  not  elevate  us  in  the  scale  of  being  ?  Is 
not  self-respect  essential  to  the  dignity  of  the  human  char 
acter  ?  Would  you  rather  go  to  an  earthly  court  in  rags, 
because  you  were  sure  of  beautiful  attire  when  you  reached 
there  ?  This  is  a  subject  on  which  the  mind  may  dwell 
with  safety,  for  the  higher  we  rank  in  intelligence  and 
morality,  the  more  exalted,  we  may  believe,  will  be  our 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  229 

position  in  a  world,  whose  great  sonrce  is  light  and 
knowledge." 

"  But  how  are  we  to  attain  so  much  light  ?  we  may  think 
and  strive  for  ever,  and  be  ignorant.  Life  is  so  bewildering, 
to  one  who  thinks,  that  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  it  was  better 
to  simply  trust  and  believe." 

"Would  you  commend  the  course  of  a  traveller  who 
wandered  all  over  the  world,  looking  only  to  the  end  of  his 
journey  ?  Would  you  not  have  him  secure  treasures,  and 
preserve  flowers  and  mementoes  by  the  way,  showing  that  he 
had  not  travelled  without  attainment  ?  As  wisely  might  one 
walk  over  diamonds  and  not  pick  them  up,  as  not  seek  to 
enrich  the  soul's  casket,  as  we  pass  through  life." 

"But  these  jewels,"  said  Jeanie,  smiling,  "are  not  so 
easily  obtained — and  all  the  attainments  we  may  secure,  it 
seems  to  me,  will  leave  us  beggars." 

"  Never  despair  in  the  search,  when  truth  is  the  desidera 
tum,  for  God  holds  in  His  right  hand  the  banner  ;  and  the 
more,  we  study  His  attributes,  the  more  clearly  we  shall  see 
unfurled  the  Christian's  flag.  The  heathen  and  the  world 
ling  both  look  up  to  the  sun,  as  the  typification  of  Deity, 
it  being  the  most  glorious  object  of  inanimate  creation,  and 
the  great  illuminer  of  the  universe.  Other  of  His  works, 
teach  more  palpably  the  principle  of  love,  which  is  instinc 
tive  in  all  animate  creation.  Little  Pico,"  Mr.  Hamlin 
smiled,  "  flying  to  your  bosom,  is  emblematical  of  the  soul's 
longings.  Love,  Truth,  Purity  and  Rest,"  he  repeated, 
"  these  attained,  have  we  not  on  earth  a  foretaste  of  heaven  ?" 

The  expression  which  lighted  the  face  of  Jeanie,  attracted 
her  companion.  Charmed  with  its  sweet  earnestness,  his 
thoughts  wandered  to  the  home  to  which  he  was  conducting 
her,  deprecating  the  influences  that  might  there  bear  upon 
her  character, 

"Jeanie,"  said  he  :  "in  a  garden  of  flowers,  could  you 


230  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

withstand  the  inclination  to  pluck  the  sweetest,  if  you 
knew  that  the  rankest  rniasmi  arose  from  their  blooms  ?" 

"  I  have  been  taught  self-denial,  but  perhaps  have  never 
known  what  temptation  is." 

"  In  your  mother's  home,  you  will  drink  it  from  every 
brimming  cup.  It  is  a  Hymettus  hive,  and  its  sweets  will 
either  delight  your  palate,  or  make  you  yearn  for  your 
mountain  rills.  Your  tastes  will  be  there  developed.  But 
there  is  no  spot  where  we  have  not  a  guardian  angel. 
Every  one  has  a  conscience,  and  in  all  situations,  are  respon 
sible  for  its  warnings." 

"I  shall  have  one  in  dear  mamma." 

"  Trust  to  no  monitor  like  that  within,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin, 
smiling  sadly  at  the  confident  tone  of  Jeauie. 

Observing  her  serious  face,  he  changed  his  conversatiou 
to  a  playful  tone,  and  before  the  termination  of  their  land, 
route,  had  awakened  many  a  merry  laugh,  and  so  extrava 
gantly  burlesqued  her  situation  when  he  first  saw  her, 
he  could  hardly  tell  by  the  blushes,  smiles  and  frowns  of  his 
listener,  whether  he  had  most  amused  or  vexed. 

They  had  now  reach  the  southwestern  waters.  On  the 
deck  of  the  steamer  with  her  companion,  she  watched  the 
rippling  Ohio  and  its  landscapes  of  brilliant  verdure. 
Seeing  the  vineyards  on  the  river,  she  became  curious  to  hear 
of  those  of  other  lands. 

With  patient  minuteness,  he  detailed  to  her  descriptions 
of  trans- Atlantic  scenes  ;  and  with  many  a  wild  legend 
adorned  his  narrations.  With  her,  he  traversed  the  Old 
World,  stopping  at  sunny  France,  of  which  he  told 
sparkling  and  pleasant  tales — at  golden  Italy,  until,  in 
imagination,  she  saw  the  architectural  glory  of  Rome  ;  and 
on  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  drank  the  inspiration  of 
the  past.  Travelling  on,  with  low  and  eloquent  tongue  he 
carried  her  on  the  charmed  wing  of  fancy,  to  the  banks  of 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  231 

the  flower-fringed  Euphrates,  and  to  the  land  of  tie 
Moslem,  beneath  glittering  Mosaic  domes,  crystallized,  and 
star  canopied — whereon  is  written,  "  God  is  light  of  the 
Heavens  and  Earth." 

In  return,  Jeanie  wandered  back  to  the  farm,  giving  in 
her  artless  language,  narrations  of  her  childhood's  experi 
ence  in  country  rambling — not  forgetting  each  member  of 
the  family,  now  so*  tenderly  remembered,  save  one,  whose 
eccentricities  she  set  forth  in  a  light  so  ridiculous,  that  Mr. 
Hamlin  vowed  he  would  never  be  an  old  bachelor. 

"  I  thought  you  were  one  now,"  said  Jeanie,  smiling  at  his 
last  remark. 

He  drew  what  consolation  he  could  from  this.  In  reply 
to  her  queries  respecting  his  history,  he  gave  her  many 
incidents  of  his  life — reserving  one  page,  on  which  was 
written,  his  boyhood's  love. 

He  saw  that  on  deck,  and  in  the  saloon  of  the  steamer, 
she  was  to  every  one,  an  object  of  attention  and  admiration ; 
knowing  her  less  beautiful  than  her  mother,  he  had 
perhaps  lightly  estimated  her  personal  attractions  ;  he  was 
certainly  surprised  and  annoyed  by  the  observation  she 
excited,  and  answered  questions  respecting  her  so  briefly, 
that  they  were  not  repeated. 

Dancing  and  games  were  the  chief  amusement  on  board. 
There  was  little  in  the  long  miles  of  cotton-wood,  which 
lay  far  distant  on  the  low  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  to 
attract  the  eye  of  Jeanie,  and  in  the  muddy  waves,  through 
which  they  ploughed,  but  the  charm  of  novelty. 

Still  she  felt  as  if  out  upon  a  broad  sea,  so  sublime  was 
the  wide  waste  of  dark  waters.  When  wearied  of  the 
scenery,  he  would  tell  her  of  the  orange  groves  and  sugar 
plantations,  to  which  they  would  come  before  they  reached 
the  half-moon  city. 

Jeanie  had  been  often  solicited  to  dance,  since  she  had 


232  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

been  on  the  steamer,  but  had  declined  ;  being  however 
requested  by  a  little  girl  to  join  her  in  a  waltz,  she  accepted 
the  proposal.  After  an  hour's  absence,  Mr.  Hamlin  joined 
her,  when  others  had  been  added  to  the  group,  among 
whom  was  a  strolling  troupe  bound  for  Havana. 

She  continued  to  dance,  unobservant  of  his  notice,  or 
that  of  others  :  with  eager  and  fascinated  gaze,  the  profes 
sional  artistes  looked  upon  her  superb  carriage,  and  elastic, 
airy  motion,  among  whom  was  the  manager  of  the  ballet 
troupe.  As  she  ceased,  he  stepped  forward,  and  while 
putting  his  hand  upon  her  waist,  asked  her  in  French,  to 
waltz  with  him. 

Her  cheek  kindling,  Jeanie  retreated,  and  lo'oking  around 
the  cabin  anxiously,  encountered  the  eyes  of  Mr  Hamlin 
from  the  doorway.  The  incident  recalled  the  time  when  he 
took  her  from  the  boys  in  the  country  village,  and  it 
unpleasantly  occurred  to  him,  she  needed  but  the  oppor 
tunity  to  be  another  Elinor  Miller. 

Jeanie  looked  earnestly  into  the  dark  eyes,  fastened  upon  her 
blushing  face,  and  fancied  that  in  them  she  read  displeasure, 
or  else  as  in  a  dream,  came  back  the  same  reproving  look, 
that  first  met  her  own. 

The  eyes  were  nearer  to  Tier  now  ;  and  not  meeting  hers, 
he  asked,  while  taking  her  hand,  if  she  would  go  on  deck 
with  him.  It  was  star-light,  and  a  soft  balmy  evening  ;  they 
left  the  cabin. 

"  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you."  Mr.  Hamlin  adjusted 
the  falling  shawl.  "  Do  not  dance  on  the  boat  again  ;  it 
subjects  you  to  impertinence,  without  a  protector." 

"  I  wish  I  did  not  like  to,  so  well." 

"  Your  step  to  the  music,  is  like  the  willow  to  the  breeze. 
One  would  not  think,  however,  you  preferred  to  make  the 
exhibition  of  your  grace  so  public.  Tell  me  now,  how  you 
came  when  a  child  in  such  a  place,  and  in  such  a  dress  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  233 

"  Don't  ask  me — please  don't.  I  wish  that  I  had  never 
met  you  there." 

"  Why  did  you  avoid  my  eye  when  I  looked  at  you  ?  You 
did  not  think  that  the  stranger  would  be  on  the  Mississippi 
with  you  to-day  ;  and  again  find  you  one  of  a  dancing 
troupe." 

Looking  for  a  reply,  Mr.  Hamlin  saw  that  Jeanie  was 
striving  to  hide  her  dropping  tears.  She  had  been  keenly 
mortified. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  grieve  you.  How  beautiful  Venus  is 
looking  to-night.  Can  you  see  her '  horns,'  through  your  fool 
ish  tears  ?  Milton  says  : 

•Hither,  as  to  their  fountain,  other  stars 
Repairing,  in  their  golden  urns  draw  light, 
And  hence  the  morning  planet  gilds  her  horns.' 

In  what  constellation  do  you  class  yourself  ?  If  I  were  to 
make  a  star  of  you,  you  should  be  called  Alpha  Lyrse,  but 
I  will  not  tell  you  why,  because  you  are  so  pettish  as  to  be 
offended  with  me.  Are  these  muddy  waves  so  lustral,  that 
you  are  so  devoted  to  them  ?" 

Jeanie  was  still  silent. 

Mr.  Hamlin  continued  : 

"It  is  a  romantic  thought,  that  not  many  years  since,  no 
sound  of  machinery  was  here  heard,  nought  but  the  paddle 
of  the  Indian,  wafting  his  canoe  over  this  waste  of  waters. 
Can't  you  fancy  a  deer  and  his  hunter  coming  out  of  the 
woods  ?" 

No  word  came  from  the  bowed  head. 

"  You  looked  much  like  your  mother  in  the  dance."  Mr. 
Hamlin  determined  to  awaken  her  attention. 

With  a  half  doubtful  expression,  Jeanie  now  raised  her 
eyes.  Could  he  mean  to  reflect  on  her  mother  ?  Thinking 
it  possible,  she  reined  in  her  white  throat,  and  looked  indif- 


234  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

fcrently — proudly  upon  the  water.  The  similarity — almost 
identity,  to  Elinor  Castleman,  came  over  Philip  Hamlin. 
The  old  feeling  of  prejudice  crept  up  in  his  heart. 

It  was  towards  sunset.  The  monotonous  sail  was  near  its 
end,  and  at  no  distant  period,  there  would  be  a  prospect  of 
nearing  New  Orleans. 

The  ladies'  saloon  was  full — its  occupants  chatting,  flirt 
ing,  and  over  games  rattling  the  dice-box.  Young  mothers 
played  with  their  babies  in  the  arms  of  their  black  nurses. 
Beautiful  southern  girls,  reclined  on  couches,  with  the  last 
new  novel — dark  eyed  Creole  women  watching  them,  while 
their  husbands  or  gallants  lounged,  idled,  read,  or  paid  them 
homage. 

None  seemed  without  amusement,  or  their  pets — farther 
on,  old  men  had  their  cards  and  wine — and  the  women  who 
had  no  beaux  or  children,  played  with  their  lap-dogs. 

Among  the  crowd  was  a  beautiful  French  danseuse.  She 
was  one  of  the  troupe,  and  a  sister  of  him  who  had  been  so 
much  impressed  with  the  grace  of  Jeanie.  They  both  made 
great  efforts  to  induce  her  to  join  their  circle.  Deeming 
their  advances  impertinent,  Mr.  Hamlin  pointedly  avoided 
the  party. 

Jeanie's  state-room  was  opposite  that  of  the  lady.  Open 
ing  hers,  the  latter,  as  if  oppressed  with  the  heat,  loosened 
her  dress,  and  unfolded  her  heavy  braids  of  hair — causing 
the  unbound  mass  to  veil  her  shoulders.  She  knew  that  one 
never  saw  the  purple  glossy  mantle,  who  would  not  turn 
again. 

Jeanie's  eyes  fell  in  admiration  upon  so  much  beauty,  but 
while  she  looked,  the  lady  tottered,  as  if  with  faintness. 
She  could  not  speak  English,  but  with  pantomimic  signs,  called 
to  her.  She  went  instantly  towards  her,  and  laid  her  languid 
head  upon  a  pillow,  attempting,  with  restoratives,  to  revive 
the  "  sufferer."  Opening  her  large  black  eyes,  she  fascinated 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  235 

Jeanie  with  low  caressing  words,  meaningless  to  her,  but  in 
her  musical  tones,  softly  melodious. 

The  trusting  girl  was  now  fairly  within,  when  with 
apparent  fear  of  intrusion,  the  lady  locked  the  door  leading 
to  the  cabin.  At  the  same  moment,  the  lattice  opened,  and 
at  the  entrance  stood  her  brother,  his  eyes  resting  admir 
ingly  upon  her. 

Turning  to  go,  she  found  herself  surrounded  by  the  for 
eign  party,  and  an  object  of  demonstrative  admiration.  Her 
efforts  to  escape  were  fruitless,  and  the  lady  seemingly  too 
ill  to  render  her  assistance.  With  fear  and  embarrassmen^ 
she  again  went  to  the  door,  attempting  to  open  it,  but  was 
earnestly  solicited  to  remain  with  them,  while  the  manager 
pointed  to  some  ladies  in  their  company.  Bewildered,  she 
sat  down,  hoping  soon  to  escape  by  the  way  of  the, 
guards. 

Mr.  Hamlin  sought  Jeanie,  and  not  finding  her  in  the 
saloon  or  upon  deck,  believed  that  she  had  retired  to  her 
room.  Night  was  advancing  ;  she  still  slept,  as  he  supposed. 
He  wandered  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  boat,  when  he  caught 
a  view  of  her  in  the  avoided  circle,  and  by  her  side  the 
object  of  his  detestation.  He  observed  that  she  looked  dis 
tressed,  and  was  vainly  seeking  egress  from  those  around 
her,  who  closed  all  avenues  to  her  escape. 

Indignant  with  the  success  of  a  game  which  he  knew  had 
been  played  since  the  party  came  on  board,  he  could  only 
see  her  anxious  face,  and  the  odious  foreigner  in  proximity 
to  her.  Their  eyes  met.  Jeanie  bounded  forward.  At  this 
instant  a  crash  was  heard.  Throughout  the  boat  was  felt  a 
blow,  and  in  every  horror-stricken  face  was  read  a  tale  of 
imminent  and  awful  peril  ! 

A  shriek  went  through  the  crowd  !  We  are  lost  !  lost ! 
sinking  !  sinking !  The  cry  was  echoed,  and  prolonged, 
until  on  each  ear  it  came  like  the  last  wail  of  despair. 


236  THE   TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

A  fog  had  suddenly  arisen  on  the  river,  and  in  the  midst 
two  noble  boats  had  met ! 

With  desperation,  Mr.  Hamlin  rushed  to  the  spot  where 
Jeanie  had  stood.  She  was  not  there,  but  in  the  grasp  of 
the  stranger.  Shrieking  loudly  his  name,  she  struggled  to 
be  free.  Precipitately  he  reached  her.  Self-preservation 
induced  the  man  to  leave  the  frantic  girl.  She  would  not 
with  him  leap  into  the  boat  to  which  all  were  rushing,  but 
with  open  arms  fell  on  the  breast  of  Mr.  Hamlin. 

It  was  dusk  ;  the  stars  were  hidden  by  the  fog  which  had 
grown  thick  and  dense,  and  the  muddy  waves  came  up  higher 
around  them. 

Looking  forth,  they  saw  nothing  but  the  bending  bows  of 
another  boat,  rocking,  pitching  headlong  down — heard  noth 
ing  but  the  crash  of  timber,  the  harsh  rending  of  ropes,  and 
with  agonized  sympathy,  seemingly  the  harsher  rending  of 
human  hearts,  sending  to  God  appeals  for  mercy.  In  the 
midst,  swaying  with  his  burden,  Philip  Hamlin  bore  the  form 
of  Jeanie  to  the  side  of  the  sinking  boat,  and  njade  a  leap 
for  one  fast  filling.  It  was  the  last  struggle — the  last  chance 
for  safety  !  They  could  not  reach  it !  Others  were  swamp 
ing  in  the  flood. 

The  night  had  now  come  on.  Clambering  the  side  of  the 
wreck,  he  reached  a  part  of  the  railing,  and  with  a  rope, 
tied  to  it  the  form  of  Jeanie  ;  clinging  to  the  same,  he 
dashed  with  his  burden  in  the  waters.  To  swim  in  the  rush 
ing,  boiling  stream  was  a  vain  attempt ;  he  knew  that  they 
must  be  borne  resistless  on  the  mighty  current.  Trusting  to 
Him  who  rules  the  waves,  Mr.  Hamlin  plunged  into  the 
grim  flood.  Around  them  were  the  struggling,  the  drown 
ing,  and  far  below,  the  crew,  and  life-boats. 

They  saw  their  noble  steamer  lurch  and  sink,  while  over 
it  came  the  remorseless  waves.  With  its  crowd  of  human 
beings  it  went  down. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  237 

"  Are  you  sensible  ?"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  with  an  arm  about 
the  form  of  Jeanie,  whose  eyes  he  could  see  were  turned 
towards  heaven,  as  if  in  supplication. 
"  Yes."     She  spoke  clearly. 
"  Should  I  survive,  have  you  no  message  ?" 
"  Love  to  all !     Unite  my  parents — pray — trust" — 
"  I  promise,  if  spared  ;  but  oh  !  have  courage  I" 
A  shout,  long  and  piercing,  went  over  the  waters,  and 
then  a  low,  suffocating,  "  God  have  mercy  1"  came  from  the 
pale  lips  of  Philip  Hainlin,  as  a  drowning  sufferer  caught 
hold  of  his  person,  and  drew  from  him  his  only  support. 
"  Jeanie  !  Jeanie  !  hold  fast — I  leave  you  " — 
Thus  she  and  her  protector  parted — the  latter  to  escape 
from  the  grasp  of  one  who  left  him  without  a  straw  to  which 
to  cling- -around  him  dark,  boiling  eddies,  threatening  to 
engulph  him.     A  floating  piece  of  timber  from  the  wreck, 
was  driven  past  him. 

Seeing  it,  he  was  enabled  to  cling,  until  picked  up  by  a 
steamer  downward  bound.  Kind  sympathy  came  to  his  aid, 
when  he  awoke  to  the  agonized  conviction  of  having  proba 
bly  for  ever  parted  with  his  charge. 

He  could  only  beseech  for  the  boat  to  continue  its  search 
for  her.  Cruel  and  insensible  seemed  his  auditors.  What 
to  them  was  the  loss  of  one  so  young,  to  the  "  awful  catas 
trophe  " — the  loss  of  "  two  noble  boats  ?" 

Mr.  Hamlin  returned  to  New  Orleans.  "  Why,"  his  ach 
ing  heart  queried,  "  was  he  saved  to  impart  such  misery  ?" 
Had  the  sun  shone  less  gaily,  the  blue  distant  waves  of  the 
harbor  shivered  with  roaring  gusts,  and  the  winds  howled  a 
tempest,  he  could  have  better  borne  his  suffering.  So  bitter 
a  contrast  would  not  have  then  been  seen  without — been  felt 
within.  His  heart  could  only  moan,  "  How  have  I  fulfilled 
my  task  I  How  brought  thee,  Jeanie,  to  thy  mother's 
arms  !" 


238  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Had  not  God  taken  her  in  her  angel  purity,  that  she 
might  on  unsullied  wing,  appear  before  His  throne  ?  Should 
he  not  bow  his  head,  and  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  ?" 

Hitherto  in  his  visits  to  Mrs.  Miller,  he  had  but  one 
object — to  promote  the  happiness  of  her  husband,  while  he 
sought  disinterestedly  her  own  good.  He  had  exhibited 
his  severe  condemnation  of  her  principles — his  scorn  of  the 
life  she  led,  hoping  that  she  might,  while  respecting  him, 
feel  to  the  core  of  her  heart,  compunction  for  her  course. 

He  now  called  upon  another  errand  !  The  mother  was 
daily  looking  for  her  child  with  triumph  as  well  as 
pleasure.  For  the  time  had  arrived  when  the  strife  should 
commence — which  should  win  the  prize. 

It  was  a  game  to  play — one  of  skill  as  well  as  a  heart 
conflict. 

Each  year  of  separation  had  increased  the  wife's  feelings 
t)f  bitterness  towards  her  husband  ;  and  as  he  grew  high  in 
favor,  influence  and  wealth,  the  more  aggravating  became 
her  position,  as  his  abandoned  wife.  She  had  resolved  to 
win  from  him  his  idolized  child,  and  for  ever  to  seclude  her 
from  his  sight.  Judging  of  his  acrimony  by  her  own,  she 
believed  that  he  nourished  the  same  purpose  ;  and  that  but 
for  a  brief  season,  was  Jeanie  to  be  permitted,  with  his 
consent,  to  remain  with  her. 

She  had  heard  of  her  increasing  loveliness,  and  of  her 
growing  resemblance  to  herself,  and  to  a  feverish  heat  had 
excited  her  imagination,  regarding  her  fancied  idolatry  for 
her  child. 

Surprised  and  joyful  she  received  the  announcement  of 
Mr.  Hamlin's  coming.  Excepting  at  her  evening  receptions, 
he  had  never  visited  her.  Showing  herself  with  elegant 
simplicity,  divested  of  the  gorgeous  decorations,  which  she 
knew  he  despised,  with  a  smile,  she  extended  her  hand,  and 
met  the  tightened  trembling  grasp,  which  alarmed  and 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  239 

bewildered  her.  Instead  of  speaking,  he  muttered  a  salu 
tation  low  and  inaudible. 

Believing  the  change  the  work  of  love,  and  that  the 
barrier  between  them  made  him  wretched  (little  pause  as 
the  vain  woman  had  for  the  belief)  with  winning  tones  she 
expressed  her  hope,  that  one  so  welcome,  was  not  ill,  at  a 
time  when  expectation  made  her  supremely  happy. 

The  visitor  looked  pale,  but  was  silent. 

"Do  you  see,"  said  she,  "the  beautiful  roses  I  have 
gathered  for  our  Jeanie  ?  but  stop — I  think — I  heard  she 
was  to  accompany  you — you  have  come  to  tell  me  of  her 
arrival  ?  How  kind  !  how  considerate  !  why  need  I  doubt 
one,  who  can  delight  as  well  as  torture — why  do  you  not 
speak  ?  and  look  so  pale  and  haggard  ?  You  need  not 
fear,"  she  spoke  in  a  low  sweet  tone,  "  not  to  meet  sympa 
thy,  I  know  that  your  cruelty  lies  alone  in  your  tongue, 
which  will  not  always  say  to  me,  such  bitter  things  ?" 

The  words  were  banteringly,  yet  seriously  spoken. 

There  was  no  coldness — no  scorn  now  in  the  expression 
of  the  sunken  eyes,  that  fell  upon  the  mother  of  the  sweet 
lost  one — but  pity  so  deep  it  blanched  with  agony  the 
quivering  lips,  and  palsied  the  tongue  that  could  only  moan  : 
"  I  have  sad  news." 

"  She  is  ill  !  My  darling  is  ill,  and  alone  !  And  you 
have  come  for  me  !  How  well  we  both  love  this  child." 

Alluring  as  the  breath  of  summer,  came  the  fond  words, 
from  lips  that  would  beguile  the  being  of  her  worship  : 

"  Yes — but  God  has  loved  her  better — she  is  lost !  gone 
down  with  the  steamer  !  You  have  heard  of  the  dreadful 
collision  ?" 

"  Stop  !  stop  !  I  cannot  thus  be  deceived  !  He  has 
stolen  her  from  me — and  you  are  bidden  to  tell  me  so  false 
a  tale  !  Give  her  to  me,  and  you  will  see  that  I  am  not 
ungrateful.  Oh  !  forsake  his  cause,  and  cling  to  mine." 


240  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Mrs.  Miller,  your  child  ere  this  is  probably  drowned  ! 
I  left  her,  clinging  to  a  piece  of  the  wreck.  Be  calm,  if 
you  can,  and  listen  to  me." 

Mr.  Hamlin  briefly  recounted  the  particulars  of  the  acci 
dent,  and  the  situation  of  Jeanie,  as  he  parted  from  her, 
but  before  he  could  conclude,  was  interrupted  by  the 
shrieks  of  his  listener. 

"No — no — you  could  not  save  yourself  and  leave  my 
child  to  perish  !  No  !  no  !  it  cannot  be  !  it  cannot  be  ! 
You  have  hidden  her  from  me." 

"  Pity  for  you,  compels  me  to  disregard  your  words. 
Jeanie,  I  have  reason  to  fear,  is  no  more  among  the  living. 
Still  there  is  one  ray  of  hope.  She  was  too  sweet  for  the 
sorrows  of  earth.  Yet — yet — we  may  trust." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  and  words  of  Mr. 
Hamlin  as  he  continued,  that  brought  conviction  to  the 
mind  of  the  mother.  As  he  went  on,  his  eyes  staring,  as  if 
upon  the  wreck,  upon  the  floating  form  of  her  dying  child — 
his  lips  white  with  the  tale  they  revealed,  she  awoke  to  the 
belief  of  his  statement.  Growing  paler  until  her  lips  and 
cheek  seemed  bloodless,  she  sank  backwards,  her  hands 
clasped,  her  features  sharpened,  as  if  by.  years  of  suffering. 

"  Tell  me  all."  The  speaker  was  calm.  More  of  the 
dark  history  was  revealed,  when  the  mother's  consternation 
changed  to  such  wildness,  that  to  compose  her,  seemed  hot 
in  human  power. 

With  seeming  frenzy  she  denounced  the  treachery  of 
her  husband,  while  in  a  torrent  of  reproach,  she  called  Mr. 
Hamlin  the  persecutor  of  her  life — the  cause  of  her  most 
miserable  moments,  and  now,  the  destroyer  of  her  child. 

Releasing  himself  from  the  clinging  grasp  of  her  fingers, 
which  again  seized  his  arm,  he  answered  : 

"  You  are  mad — mad — poor  woman  !" 

"  I  ask  you  not  to  pity  me.     Why  have  vou  made  me  fear 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  241 

another  life  ?  Why  did  you  take  from  me  all  hope  of  peace 
in  this,  and  leave  me  nought  but  misery  ? — and  you  could 
not  bring  me  my  little  Jeanie  !-— all,  all  I  had  in  my  gilded, 
mocking,  unreal  world." 

Melted  by  the  genuine  suffering  of  one  he  had  only  seen 
in  her  hours  of  triumphant  splendor,  Mr.  Hamlin  addressed 
her,  as  he  had  never  before  done.  Taking  the  hand  that 
wreathed  in  and  out  of  her  hair,  he  said,  his  voice 
trembling  :  "  I  do  feel  for  you  ;  and  for  your  distressed  hus 
band,  who  has  ere  this  heard  the  news  ;  for  he  has  lost  a 
child,  as  well  as  a  wife.  He  will  indeed  need  consolation 
now  ?" 

"  Oh  where  ?"  again  screamed  the  frantic  woman,  "  have 
you  put  her  ? — in  the  water  ! — in  the  water  !" 

Mr.  Hamlin  caught  her  as  she  fell.  When  she  recovered, 
many  were  about  her.  The  cause  of  her  grief  had  been 
imparted,  and  some  from  pity,  and  more  from  curiosity, 
sought  the  afflicted,  to  hear  her  wail  for  her  child. 

He  immediately  returned  to  New  York  to  the  distracted 
father  and  brother,  whose  hearts  were  stricken  with  the  ter 
rible  news. 

Mr.  Miller  was  prostrated,  as  if  by  the  hand  of  death  ; 
and  when  his  friend  arrived,  lay  in  a  state  of  almost  hopeless 
mental  and  bodily  suffering.  The  latter  hardly  knew  whether 
to  bid  him  still  hope,  or  to  endeavor  to  reconcile  him  to  the 
worst.  Inquiry  seemed  vain,  and  was  finally  given  over. 

The  survivors  could  only  surrender  Jeanie,  as  many  are 
compelled  to  yield  to  the  river  and  ocean-bed  the  form 
dearly  loved,  and  to  the  God  who  reigns  in  mercy  the  soul 
of  the  dead.  The  grief  of  Arthur  was  only  equalled  by 
that  of  his  father.  How  all  had  loved  the  simple-hearted 
Jeanie  ! 

Poor  Aunt  Jane  !  Grief  had  changed  her,  as  if  by  the 
crushing  hand  of  time,  and  the  old  people  were  bowed  with 


242  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

sorrow.  Even  Zebedee  wandered  off  by  himself,  and  com 
plained  of  feeling  "  poorly."  Keturah  could  not,  or  would 
not,  give  her  up,  but  sung  louder  than  ever,  "  The  Siege  of 
Bellisle  ;"  while  at  intervals  she  was  seen  to  choke  and  sob, 
which  emotion,  if  observed,  she  declared  was  nothing  but  a 
cold — that  Jeanie  was  no  more  "drownded"  than  she 
was. 

To  Mr.  Hamlin,  Jeanie's  loss  had  created  a  void,  of  what 
nature,  he  could  hardly  say.  He  felt  that  he  had  parted 
with  what  life  could  not  replace  to  him — the  confidence,  the 
sweet  trust  of  a  guileless,  unworldly  heart.  Was  it  not  akin 
to  an  angel's  love  ?  He  could  not  forget  her  last  supplicat 
ing  look,  dimly  seen — the  holy  serenity  of  her  upward  child 
ish  gaze,  as  she  bade  him  trust  in  heaven.  Then  came  on 
Ms  memory  the  clasp — the  wreathing  of  the  white  arms — 
the  agonized  yet  glad  embrace  when  they  last  met,  to  cast 
themselves  upon  the  river. 

Ringing  on  his  ear,  were  ever  her  plaintive  tones,  her 
heart  beating  in  hard,  quick  thumps  against  his  own.  Pain 
ful,  yet  sweet  was  the  memory. 

He  thought  he  once  had  loved,  but  now  it  seemed  that 
passion  had  only  borne  him  as  on  a  whirlwind's  breath — that 
reason  held  no  sway  in  the  burning  conflict.  Changed  were 
his  dreams.  He  believed  that  if  such  insanity  had  been 
calmed  in  his  breast,  never  more  to  control  him — that  it  was 
only  a  child  like  the  youthful  Jeanie  who  could  awaken  the 
deep  tenderness  of  his  nature,  and  cause  to  well  up  from  its 
depths  the  pure  waters  of  affection.  As  he  thought  of  her 
now  dead,  she  seemed  to  have  been  younger  ;  he  felt  that 
his  soul  had  been  exalted  and  purified  by  the  communion  he 
had  with  her,  and  long  it  continued  to  him  a  blissful 
thought,  that,  tossed  wildly  as  she  since  had  been,  once  she 
had  rested  her  young  head  for  long  hours,  peacefully  upon 
his  breast. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

MR.  HAMLIN  remained  many  weeks  by  the  bedside 
of  his  friend.  The  sorrow  of  his  grief-stricken  son, 
rendered  him  no  comforter.  Added  to  Arthur's  affliction, 
was  the  consciousness  that  the  barrier  between  Mary  and 
himself  was  now  more  than  ever  impassable. 

He  might  have  forgiven  injustice  done  a  sister  while  she 
lived,  but  his  soul  revolted  at  the  thought  of  communion 
with  those  who  had  with  an  evil  eye  viewed  a  loved  one  now 
departed. 

Letters  came  to  him  from  the  old  people  at  Mad  River, 
telling  him  of  Mary's  illness,  and  of  their  willingness  now  to 
receive  nun  as  her  lover — communications  to  which  he  paid 
no  heed.  In  the  distance,  he  only  saw  the  white  robes  of 
the  injured  one.  By  the  declining  invalid  his  days  were 
spent,  listening  meantime  with  never-wearied  ear  to  the  oft 
repeated  tale  of  Jeanie's  last  days  and  moments. 

"  Unite  my  parents,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  "  were  among  her 
final  beseeching  words."  He  then  related  the  situation  in 
which  he  left  her  mother,  and  likewise  imparted  intelligence 
which  much  affected  Mr.  Miller,  that  she  suffered  under  the 
delusive  belief  that  her  child  had  been  abducted  from  her. 
Through  Mr.  Hamlin  and  Jeanie,  Mr.  Miller's  feelings 
towards  his  wife  had  been  softened  before  his  present  be 
reavement,  and  were  now  melted  with  sympathy  for  one 
whom  he  felt  mourned  with  himself  as  could  none  other. 

The  tie  that  had  knit  him  to  her,  he  now  believed  severed 
by  death.  Yet  did  not  the  lost  one  still  plead  with  her  sup- 


244  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

plicating  voice,  "  Love  my  mother  ?"  He  pictured  lier  she 
had  so  idolized,  suffering,  grieving  alone.  He  thought,  but 
not  with  repentance,  that  he  had  taken  her  from  the  bosom 
where  she  had  been  fondly  nourished,  and  that  she,  the 
crazed  one,  believed  in  her  frenzy  that  he  had  wilfully  sepa 
rated  them.  Did  not  justice  demand  concession  on  his  part, 
now- that  Heaven  had  defeated  his  intention  to  restore  to  her 
her  child  ?  He  resolved  to  offer  to  her,  her  former  position, 
and  to  again  give  her  his  confidence. 
He  wrote  to  his  wife. 

"  '  Unite  my  parents,'  were  the  dying  words  of  our  child.  Can  an 
appeal  so  solemn  and  affecting  come  to  us  from  her  watery  grave 
unheeded  ? 

"  Your  grief  is  pictured  to  my  mind,  demanding  the  sympathy  no 
one  can  offer  you  but  one  who  mourns  with  the  same  sorrow.  We 
have  now  the  same  burden  to  carry  to  our  graves,  and,  blessed  be 
God,  the  same  consolation. 

"  Elinor,  I  am  ready  to  bury  the  remembrances  of  the  past,  hoping 
that  He  who  has  so  afflicted  us,  will  also  chasten  and  fit  us  to  meet 
our  lost  one  above.  My  heart  is  open  to  receive  you,  and  though  but 
for  a  brief  period  can  such  a  union  exist — for  I  shall  soon  follow  poor 
Jeanie — yet  may  it  not  be  mutually  comforting  that  a  reconciliation 
took  place  between  us  ? 

"  Decide,  Elinor,  as  your  heart  dictates. 

"A.  M." 

The  following  week,  Mr.  Hamlin  received  the  returned 
epistle  of  his  friend,  enclosed  to  him  with  a  brief  request 
that  he  would  present  it  to  Mr.  Miller. 

He  performed  the  unpleasant  duty. 

The  superscription  told  the  tale.  A  brighter  red  burned 
for  a  moment  on  the  hectic  cheek,  succeeded  by  an  ashen 
hue.  An  agitated  quiver  passed  over  the  thin  lips,  making 
low  the  murmur  : 

"  She  has  answered  me  " — emotion  which  passed  away, 
leaving  the  invalid  tranquil. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  245 


CHAPTER     XXIII. 

LONG  sad  weeks  had  passed  to  Jeanie's  friends,  while 
she  was  supposed  lost  on  the  Mississippi,  but  her 
destiny  on  earth  was  not  fulfilled.  With  despair,  she  saw 
the  agonized  look  of  him,  who  parted  with  her  upon  the 
water,  and  composed  herself  to  perish  in  the  waves. 

For  a  while  she  remembered  nothing  more,  and  her 
preservers  were  ignorant  of  her  name  or  destination.  With 
others  on  the  wreck,  she  had  been  saved  by  a  steamer 
bound  for  a  Red  River  port.  Insensible,  she  was  taken  ou 
board.  While  paralyzed  by  cold  and  suffering,  she  passed 
the  orange  groves  she  had  so  much  desired  to  see  ;  and 
when  her  eyes  opened,  with  horror  she  closed  them,  for 
around  her  stood  in  active  service,  the  party  from  whom 
she  had  flown  to  the  arms  of  Mr.  Hamlin. 

Finding  that  she  was  proceeding  up  another  stream,  with 
no  hope  for  some  time  of  meeting  her  friends,  wild  with 
grief,  she  implored  to  be  left  alone,  that  she  might  reflect 
and  devise  some  mean's  to  be  restored  to  those  she 
loved. 

Being  claimed  by  the  troupe,  who  pretended  to  recognize 
her  as  belonging  to  them*,  she  was  carried  helpless  to  their 
apartments.  Earnestly  she  plead  for  writing  materials. 
The  reply  was  ever  made  in  French — "  when  you  recover." 
With  resolution  and  such  energy  as  her  situation  called 
forth,  she  determined  to  ascertain  her  position,  and  chances 
for  improving  it. 


246  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  party  who  had  claimed  her,  having  lost  their  para 
phernalia,  changed  their  destination,  and  concluded  to  make 
the  boat's  trip,  by  whose  commander  they  had  been  saved. 
Jeanie  found  herself  upon  a  small  steamer,  among  strangers, 
coursing  up  a  narrow  stream.  She  knew  not  its  name,  but 
saw  that  it  was  a  serpentine  pathway,  and  after  parting 
with  the  Mississippi,  gradually  becoming  narrower.  The 
view  presented  on  shore  consisted  chiefly  of  cotton  planta 
tions.  Scattering  here  and  there  were  negro  huts,  around 
which  stood  lofty  trees,  veiled  in  moss  drapery,  hanging 
from  boughs  of  living  verdure  a  gloomy  pall.  The  misletoe 
clung  to  the  tops  of  the  tall  oaks,  and  the  mocking-birds 
and  paroquets  winged  in  the  warm  blue  sky. 

In  the  dark  coverts,  she  was  told,  the  beautiful  wild  deer 
roved  ;  but  sad  now  were  her  fancies,  and  she  could  only 
think  of  the  snakes  that  might  show  their  spotted  heads, 
and  hiss  at  her  from  the  underbrush,  meantime  shuddering 
at  the  sight  of  a  long-jawed  alligator  coming  out  of  the 
water,  to  creep  up  the  red  banks.  Under  other  circumstan 
ces,  Jeanie  would  have  been  pleased  with  the  novelty  of  her 
situation,  for  though  mid  February,  the  sweetest,  softest  air 
blew  through  her  lattice,  and  the  charm  that  everywhere 
pervades  the  fragrant  South,  here  lazily  breathed.  But  she 
felt  herself  a  prisoner,  and,  instinctively,  that  her  situation 
was  unknown  to  others  than  the  people  who  had  taken  her 
in  their  charge.  To  her  dismay,  she  saw  no  ladies  on  board 
save  some  rough  specimens  of  humanity,  to  whom  she  could 
not  look  for  sympathy. 

Across  her  mind  the  surmise  flashed,  that  he  who 
conducted  the  company  into  which  she  had  fallen,  would 
like  to  secure  her  as  a  dancer  in  their  troupe,  and  that  for 
this  object,  had  she  received  their  devoted  attentions. 
Trembling  with  fear  and  physical  weakness,  she  prayed  for 
Almighty  protection.  With  renewed  agony  she  thought  of 


THROUGH  THE  WOOD.  247 

the  probable  fate  of  Mr.  Hamlin — and  of  the  loss  she  had 
personally  met  in  her  present  situation.  In  the  depths  of 
her  soul  she  revered  his  memory.  Yet  too  ill  to  appear  on 
deck,  or  in  the  cabin,  she  crept  to  her  doorway,  resolving 
if  possible  to  seek  other  guardianship.  Her  protectors  had 
left  her,  as  they  supposed  asleep  and  helpless.  How 
thankful  was  she  in  this  dilemma,  for  the  light  of  reason, 
and  that  in  all  situations  there  was  an  all-seeing  Eye  to 
direct  her  wanderings.  In  the  place  of  her  own  dress  she 
found  herself  arrayed  in  habiliments  foreign  in  style,  and 
around  her  neck  attached  a  crucifix  and  rosary.  The 
conviction  was  now  entire — she  was  adopted  by  the 
company,  and  henceforth  to  be  made  one  of  them.  How 
she  wished  she  had  been  unattractive  and  awkward,  or  that 
she  had  been  less  volatile  and  thoughtless  in  the  display  of 
an  accomplishment  that  had  occasioned  her  so  much  trouble. 
Again  came  on  her  memory  the  reproving  but  beautiful 
smile  of  Mr.  Hamlin.  It  cost  her  renewed  misery.  But 
had  he  not  taught  her  to  be  trustful  even  in  sorrow  ?  Faith 
and  resignation  momentarily  lighted  her  face,  and  gave 
strength  to  her  trembling  limbs.  The  attire  she  wore  but 
added  to  the  delusion  of  those  who  saw  her. 

While  leaning  against  the  door,  the  dreaded  manager 
approached  her,  and  seemed  both  delighted  and  alarmed  to 
to  find  her  out  from  her  room.  Enamored  of  her  youthful 
beauty,  presenting  in  its  exceeding  fairness  a  contrast  to  his 
dark  company,  with  expressive  gestures  and  action,  he 
manifested,  that  she  was  too  ill  for  exposure.  With  horror 
and  timidity,  Jeanie  looked  about  her  for  a  chance  to 
escape.  "  We  save  you  life,"  said  the  man  hi  broken 
English,  "  your  lover  be  drown — we  keep  you — make  you, 
begar  1  ver  happy."  Then  with  demonstrative  gesticula 
tions  he  bade  her  go  within. 

"  No — no  !"  exclaimed  Jeanie,  in  breathless  alarm. 


248  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Me  make  yon,  you  no  go — spoil  de  limb,  you  get  col — 
begar  !  we  lose  you — you  die,  in  dis  sea  wind." 

Jeanie  attempted  with  a  strong  effort  to  rush  past  the 
speaker,  but  in  her  weakness  staggered,  and  fell  helpless, 
when  she  was  carried  insensible  to  her  berth,  where  she 
became  soon  delirious.  When  sensible,  she  kept  her  eyes 
shut,  that  she  might  exclude  the  strange  faces  about  her. 
She  had  long  fasted.  Drink  was  offered  her  ;  she  raised  her 
•  head  to  take  it, , but  seeing  it  presented  by  her  persecutor, 
recoiled,  and  attempted  to  spring  from  her  bed.  Now  more 
terrible  than  the  stern  authority  of  her  keeper,  were  the 
proffers  of  love  he  made  to  her,  signifying  that  if  she 
remained  unresistingly  with  them,  they  would  make  her  rich, 
and  she  should  be  his  wife. 

Poor  Jeanie  !  how  terrified  she  became  !  A  planter  in 
rough  apparel,  was  pacing  the  guards.  She  saw  him  through 
the  lattice  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  out  the  doorway  : 
seizing  the  hand  of  the  passer-by,  she  cried  : 

"  Take  care  of  me — I  do  not  belong  to  these  people — oh  ! 
take  care  of  me,  and  send  me  home  !" 

She  had  escaped  from  those  who  dared  not  pursue  her, 
though  she  heard  the  oaths  of  the  Frenchman,  exclaiming 
in  parenthesis  : 

"  You  drown — me  no  fish  you  up  'gain  !" 

Her  appeal  was  kindly  heard,  when  about  her,  came  many 
who  listened  to  her  simple,  eloquent  tale.  Vain  was  its  denial 
by  the  enraged  party,  who  had  claimed  her  for  sordid  and 
vicious  purposes. 

With  her  new  protector,  Jeanie  pursued  her  course  up 
the  river,  comforted  with  the  promise,  that  word  respecting 
her  situation,  should  be  immediately  sent  to  her  friends. 
Her  heart  was  in  a  measure  soothed,  and  she  was  enabled  to 
look  around  her  with  some  curiosity  and  interest. 

The  water  was  low,  when  they  reached  the  falls  on  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  249 

river,  and  not  of  sufficient  depth  to  allow  the  boat  to  pass 
loaded ;  consequently,  a  scow  of  large  dimensions  was 
put  in  readiness  to  carry  them  over,  while  the  steamer, 
lightened  of  its  burden,  went  ahead  to  receive  them. 

With  Mr.  Cameron,  her  new  protector,  Jeanie  went  on 
shore.  Trembling  from  the  effects  of  recent  illness,  and  the 
excitement  of  painful  scenes,  this  adventure  of  little  moment 
caused  her  emotions  of  terror.  She  was  again  to  be  trusted 
to  a  frail  bark,  and  guarded  by  a  rope  borne  over  a  descent, 
which  seemed  to  her  a  perilous  undertaking.  * 

She  met  the  eye  of  a  young  man,  who  had  been  fascinated 
and  deeply  interested  in  a  tale,  which  made  her  to  him  a 
heroine.  His  dashing,  fearless  address,  at  first  caused  her 
to  shrink  from  him,  but  she  was  soon  won  to  friendliness  by 
his  gentlemanly  air  and  deportment — his  gay  bantering 
laugh  causing  her  amusement,  as  she  manifested  some  fear, 
on  viewing  the  craft  to  which  they  were  to  be  transferred. 

Following  by  her  side,  he  assisted  the  planter  in  finding  a 
log  for  her  resting-place,  during  the  boat  preparations,  over 
which  he  threw  his  cloak,  seating  himself  by  her  upon  a 
stump.  The  manner  and  tone  of  his  civilities,  had  about 
them  a  frank  charm,  that  won  both  Jeanie  and  her  guar 
dian.  She  soon  chatted  with  the  stranger  familiarly  and 
pleasantly. 

The  time  which  they  were  detained,  becoming  to  the 
cotton-grower  tediously  long,  after  some  demonstrative 
yawns,  he  left  Jeanie  to  the  temporary  protection  of  their 
companion.  The  romance  of  the  wild  spot  among  the  cane- 
brakes  of  Louisiana,  the  novelty  of  a  scene  in  a  country, 
new  to  them  both,  the  solicitude  felt  for  one  so  young  and 
delicate,  exposed  after  severe  illness,  were  circumstances 
tending  to  the  advancement  of  their  acquaintance.  Without 
oflficiousness,  he  bestowed  upon  her  many  acceptable  atten 
tions,  unthought  of  by  the  less  gallant  Cameron. 
11* 


250  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Her  timidity  grew  less;  as  he  talked  to  her  of  the  cable, 
that  "  a  steam  engine  could  not  break,"  and  of  his  serious 
intention  to  wade  over  the  "  pebble  stones  " — his  appellation 
for  the  obstruction,  to  her  so  alarming ;  moreover  asserting, 
in  the  provincial  dialect  of  a  "  fair  acquaintance,"  on  the 
steamer,  that  they  would  "up  stream,  as  soon  as  thar  were 
a  smart  sprinkling  of  moonshine." 

But  at  present  there  seemed  no  prospect  of  the  coveted 
illumination — making  more  cheerful  the  blaze  enkindled  by 
the  negroes  on  the  banks,  around  which  they  squatted, 
fantastically  dressed. 

The  groups  as  they  gathered  in  their  picturesque  attire 
about  their  camp-fires,  their  dusky  faces  gleaming  in  the 
mystical  glare  upon  them,  carried  the  fancy  of  Jeanie  to 
gipsy  lands,  and  in  every  old  crone  who  there  crouched  in 
her  tattered  garments,  she  fancied  a  fortune-teller.  The 
young  man  begged  her  to  allow  him  to  bring  her  one  of  the 
old  women,  that  she  might  tell  the  destiny  of  each  (ascrib 
ing  to  the  negro  race  a  gift  of  prescience),  a  proposition 
which  Jeanie  timidly  declined  ;  when  he  took  from  his 
pocket  a  small  coin,  asking  her  to  -show  him  her  hand,  that 
he  might  cross  it,  and  tell  her  fortune  himself. 

Jeanie  had  been  hitherto  reserved.  Although  her  good 
sense  and  reason  forbade  her  actual  belief  in  the  fore 
knowledge  to  which  he  pretended  with  gravity,  still  a  feeling 
of  supersitious  awe  crept  over  her,  partly  occasioned  by  the 
events  which  had  marked  her  young  life  ;  and  the  thought 
of  hearing  her  destiny  fore-shadowed  by  one,  whom  she 
would  never  meet  again,  fascinated  and  irresistibly  allured 
her. 

The  spot  in  which  she  was  situated,  to  her  was  wild,  dark 
and  strange.  The  stars  by  which  astrologers  had  told  the 
fate  of  mortals,  shone  in  the  blue  above  her — the  whisper 
ing  winds  as  they  came  through  the  tall  tree-tops,  from 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  251 

which  the  solemn  grey  beard  fell: — the  sullen  river  flowing 
by,  combined  with  the  stillness  of  the  hour,  and  the  fear 
with  which  she  was  sometimes  impressed  that  she  should 
never  see  a  home  on  earth,  were  to  her  weird  influences, 
inducing  her  to  hold  out  tremblingly  her  hand  to  him — who 
smiled  as  he  caught  in  the  planet  light,  the  serious  look 
with  which  she  extended  the  quivering  little  palm. 

The  handsome  young  wizard  held  it  for  a  moment,  but 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  object.  His  gaze  had  wan 
dered  to  the  deep  blue  eyes,  and  the  metal  dropped  from 
his  fingers,  and  chimed  in  silvery  melody  upon  a  stone. 

He  was  reminded  of  his  duty.  Instinctively  Jeanie  felt 
her  imprudence,  and  hastily  attempted  a  release  of  her 
imprisoned  fingers. 

"  Wait,  beautiful  girl,  until  I  prophesy  " — he  hesitated — 
another  searching  look,  caused  her  eyes  to  fall — "  till  I 
prophesy — we  shall  meet  again." 

"  I  thought  you  would  tell  me  of  home — and  when  I 
shall  be  there — but  I  forget — you  are  a  stranger — pardon 
me." 

"  Why  did  you  not  seek  my  guardianship,  instead  of  this 
old  fellow  ?  I  will  take  you  wherever  you  wish  to  go." 

"  Oh  !  where  is  he  ?" 

"  Do  not  be  in  a  flutter— I  have  some  oranges — will  you 
eat  one  ?  I  have  heard  enough,  to  make  ine  wish  for  more 
of  your  history.  It  was  lucky  for  that  frizzed  monkey,  you 
were  with,  that  I  was  not  your  deliverer,  will  you  not  be 
communicative  ?" 

"  Pray  don't  ask  me — what  am  I  to  you  ?" 

"  A  myth — a  fairy — a  something  between  earth  and 
heaven,  to  bewilder  and  craze  for  the  whole  trip.  Will  you 
always  keep  the  cabin  ?" 

"  Oh — I  don't  know — I  am  ill,  but  look  ?  our  scow  ia 
ready." 


252  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  pale  face,  and  the  sudden  tremor  of  Jeanie  were 
made  palpable  in  a  sudden  glare  of  light,  which  the  young 
man  attributed  to  fear  of  her  new  mode  of  travelling.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  condition  of  Jeanie's  shattered  health 
nor  how  easily  she  was  agitated.  He  offered  her  his  arm, 
at  the  same  time  the  fruit  which  he  had  prepared  for  her. 

But  Mr.  Cameron  came  forward  and  took  possession  of 
his  charge. 

"  What  a  coward  1"  said  the  stranger,  still  laughing  at 
Jeanie  -as  they  entered  the  low  craft.  "  You  are  not  as 
badly  off  as  a  friend  of  mine  was  on  the  Mississippi  not 
long  since.  There  is  no  danger  of  a  collision  here,  unless 
we  meet  a  good  sized  turtle,  on  which  we  might  wreck." 

The  allusion  to  the  Mississippi  caused  Jeanie  a  thrill  of 
horror.  Was  she  not  again  on  a  frail  craft,  upon  dark  and 
fearful  waters  ?  She  thought  of  the  timber  to  which  she 
had  helplessly  clung.  Her  imagination  became  painfully 
excited.  The  young  moon  just  becoming  visible,  shed  its 
light  over  her  pallid  face. 

The  crowd  were  jostled  to  give  way.  A  lady  had  fainted. 
By  daylight,  Jeanie  was  cheerful,  but  at  night  the 
impression  that  she  was  going  farther  from  home,  she  knew 
not  where,  overwhelmed  her  painfully.  The  young  gentle 
man  wandered  restlessly  about,  for  a  sight  of  her,  but  until 
the  end  of  the  voyage,  he  had  not  been  successful,  except 
ing  when  she  came  out  for  a  short  walk  at  night  with  Mr. 
Cameron.  During  these  brief  moments,  Jeanie  had 
fascinated  the  stranger  ;  perhaps  the  more  so,  that  she  yet 
remained  to  him  a  mystery  ;  and  he  knew  not  that  he  had 
imparted  to  her  thoughts  their  first  rose  tinge.  He  stopped 
at  Alexandria. 

On  her  journey,  but  for  her  hopeful  trust  in  Him,  who 
can  bring  light  out  of  darkness,  she  would  have  sunk  despair 
ingly — yielding  to  the  weakness  of  her  frame,  and  trembling 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  253 

heart.  Sweet  in  her  hour  of  trouble,  were  the  words  of  the 
singer  of  Israel : 

"  The  Lord  is  my  light,  and  my  salvation  ;  whom  shall  I 
fear  ?  the  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life  ;  of  whom  shall  I 
be  afraid  ?  Though  a  host  should  encompass  against  me, 
my  heart  shall  not  fear." 

Thrown  upon  the  wide  world,  with  no  sheltering  breast  on 
which  to  lay  her  child-head,  the  more  helplessly  was  she  led 
to  trusfln  God.  The  morning  brought  more  cheerful  resig 
nation.  With  Mr.  Cameron  she  went  on  deck  ;  and  viewed 
with  interest,  her  passage  up  the  crooked  stream,  that 
grew  narrower  and  more  difficult  to  navigate.  At  times  she 
seemed  so  near  the  bank,  she  felt  as  if  within  a  wild  and 
flowery  forest — then  her  eyes  would  peer  through  dark 
coverts  of  leafy  underbrush,  where  the  rattlesnakes  hid  and 
coiled.  Fearlessly  she  now  looked  at  the  wide  mouthed 
monsters,  that  occasionally  showed  themselves  on  the  logs 
protruding  from  the  banks  of  bright  vermilion,  making 
game  for  many  an  adventurous  shot  from  the  boat's 
side. 

The  top-most  boughs  of  the  trees,  were  gnarled  together 
in  heavy  masses,  forming  arches  solemn  and  cavernous.  Then 
vast  trunks  would  strike  the  eye,  standing  bare,  and 
undraped  in  filed  ranks,  as  if  marching  against  no  mortal 
enemy,  but  serried  for  giant  warfare.  The  odious  buzzard, 
and  long-necked,  screaming  crane,  contrasted  their  black  and 
white  wings,  and  solemnly  kept  companionship  with  their 
kind.  All  else  was  quiet,  save  the  gushing  music  of  some 
lone  bird,  or  the  note  of  the  gold  and  green  winged  paro 
quet,  heard  in  the  distance.  Sitting  in  the  genial  sunshine  ; 
fanned  by  airs  sweet  and  aromatic,  lulled  into  a  feeling  of 
security  by  a  verdant  soil  so  near,  Jeanie  became  soothed 
into  a  forgetfulness  of  danger.  Encouraged  by  new-born 
hopes,  she  looked  up  trustingly  to  Mr.  Cameron. 


254  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Now  to  her  mind  came  the  pure  counsel  of  her  precep 
tress,  who  taught  her  in  all  emergencies,  in  the  trials 
incident  to  her  future  lot,  to  be  governed  by  a  religious 
sense  of  duty  ;  and  if  bewildered  in  her  judgment,  that 
there  was  a  monitor  within  ;  a  Bible  for  her  chart ;  and  a 
God  mighty  to  enable  her  to  *act.  She  knew  not  why  she 
had  so  readily  trusted  her  new  friend,  flying  to  him  as  to  a 
father,  from  the  persecutions  of  the  unprincipled.  With 
instinctive  discrimination,  she  had  chosen  him  from  the 
crowd,  who  would  have  willingly  protected  her. 

Who  can  judge  better  of  the  heart's  fine  gold,  sooner  than 
the  eye  of  the  innocent,  or  see  the  mine  where  it  lies  embedded  ? 
Such  metal  needs  no  polish  to  attract  the  vision  of  the 
guileless  ;  it  shines  in  the  glance  of  benevolence,  and  gleams 
with  vivid  lustre  in  the  face  of  the  good  and  virtuous. 

It  was  raining  in  torrents,  when  she  and  Mr.  Cameron 
reached  their  port  of  destination,  the  head  of  navigation  on 
the  river.  It  was  a  place,  not  as  now,  full  of  well-built 
tenements,  and  paved  streets  ;  but  here  and  there  a  log 
shanty,  looking  forth  upon  uncleared  land  ;  and  in  winter, 
upon  a  sea  of  red  mud.  Such  was  its  aspect,  when  Jeanie 
went  on  shore  with  Mr.  Cameron.  She  had  received  the 
parting  bow  of  the  young  gentleman,  without  learning  his 
name  or  destination. 

With  the  dark  pall  over  the  heavens,  and  the  miry  depths 
below,  Jeanie  proceeded  with  her  companion  through  the 
slushy  streets,  with  a  faint  heart,  in  anticipation  of  going 
farther  into  the  wilderness.  Little  encouragement  was 
offered  her,  in  the  state  of  the  roads,  by  the  view  she  had 
of  negroes  belaboring  with  their  long  cracker  whips,  the 
mules  upon  which  they  rode,  often  stuck  beyond  all  release 
to  their  gearing.  As  out  of  a  miry  grave,  she  looked  about 
her  ;  and  was  made  to  believe  that  it  was  but  a  rainy 
season  ;  and  that  ere  long  her  foot  would  tread  on  dry  and 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  255 

printless  paths  ;  beneath  such  delicious  balmy  influences,  as 
must  cheer  the  saddest  stranger's  heart. 

It  was  Mr.  Cameron's  intention  to  proceed  immediately 
home  with  his  young  charge,  and  in  a  few  weeks  to  return  to 
New  Orleans. 

Excitement  and  sorrow  had  so  seriously  affected  the  health 
of  Jeanie,  that  she  was  ready  to  give  a  passive  assent  to  the 
proposal,  only  desirous  that  news  of  her  safety  should  be 
forwarded  to  her  friends. 

After  several  days'  drive  through  dense  forests — their 
pathway  full  of  stumps,  the  boughs  overhead  forming  so 
thick  a  canopy,  that  not  a  patch  of  sky  was  visible,  they 
stopped  at  night  at  a  rude  shanty.  Here  odd  specimens  of 
humanity  made  them  welcome,  and  grinning  blacks  stared 
her  in  the  face,  with  as  much  curiosity  and  intelligence  as 
their  uncivilized  owners. 

Retiring,  she  found  herself  in  an  apartment  bare  of  furni 
ture,  but  cheered  by  a  brilliant  blaze  of  lightwood,  giving 
the  negroes  that  furnished  the  chimney  with  ebony  sculpture, 
a  half  savage  aspect,  fascinating  her  to  look  yet  turn  away, 
doubtful  of  her  inclination  to  accept  from  them  such 
services,  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  perform  for  herself. 

But  a  description  of  the  backwoods  of  Louisiana,  is  not 
our  task,  save  such,  as  relates  to  Jeanie's  wanderings 
through  settlements,  at  that  day,  wild  and  uncultivated. 
The  season  was  warm  for  the  latitude,  and  with  a  clear  sky 
came  hot  rays  from  the  sun,  making  the  arch  of  green 
above  acceptable  and  refreshing. 

Jeanie  observed  with  interest  the  trees  new  to  her,  and 
with  a  keen  sense  of  the  beautiful,  the  gleaming  flowers, 
amidst  the  forest's  dark  mantle.  The  lighter  shrubbery  of 
blooming  vines,  and  the  graceful  tassels  of  the  fringe  tree, 
mingled  with  the  live  oak's  green ;  and  the  dog-wood's  snowy 
petals,  showered  plentifully  in  her  path. 


256  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Here,  too,  the  grey-beard  from  the  loftiest  branch  dropped 
its  mossy  veil,  and  the  misletoe,  deriving  its  romance  from 
the  mystic  vow  of  the  Druid,  made  her  peer  far  into  the 
forest-depths,  for  a  sight  of  its  clinging  tendrils,  as  it 
crowned  the  old  oak's  brow. 

The  woods  grew  darker  and  thicker  as  they  proceeded, 
and  the  path  more  obstructed — the  fording  of  streams  and 
bayous  increasing  the  difficulty  of  their  progress. 

Jeanie  felt  that  it  was  selfish  for  her  to  indulge  her  own 
gloomy  reflections,  and  she  strove  hard  to  be  cheerful,  and 
to  seem  happy — thus  relieving  the  solicitude  of  her  compan 
ion,  who  endeavored  to  amuse  and  interest  her.  They  came 
upon  a  broad  opening,  and  wagon  road,  which  extended  a 
mile  through  the  wood,  showing  signs  of  proximity  to  a 
clearing  and  some  habitation.  But  not  long  was  she  kept 
in  suspense  :  she  soon  saw  two  women  coming  gaily  forward 
on  horseback  to  greet  the  husband  and  father. 

Jeanie  received  a  warm  welcome,  without  manifestation 
of  surprise  at  her  coming — so  common  an  occurrence  was 
the  arrival  of  a  stranger  guest  at  the  hospitable  country 
home  of  Mr.  Cameron. 

The  affectionate  meeting  of  the  family,  brought  tears  to 
the  eyes  of  Jeanie,  and  when,  arm  locked  in  arm,  the  wife 
and  husband  left  their  horses,  to  wander  together  to  their 
forest  home,  again  was  she  carried  sorrowfully  back  to  the 
situation  of  her  own  parents.  The  young  girl  with  whom 
Jeanie  rode  was  fair  and  pleasing,  giving  evidence,  in  her 
tone  and  manner,  of  an  accomplished  education  and  high 
breeding.  The  mother  possessed  in  her  passe  loveliness,  the 
charm  of  winning  manners,  and  that  indefinable  softness 
peculiar  to  the  w"bmen  of  the  South. 

Virginia  Cameron  perceived  that  Jeanie  was  in  affliction, 
and  with  deep  interest  conducted  her  to  their  cottage, 
where  she  bestowed  upon  her  such  attentions,  as  awakened 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  257 

to  bursting  the  pent  up  agony  of  her  full  heart.  Not  able 
to  control  her  emotion,  she  turned  aside  after  receiving  the 
courtesies  of  her  new  friends,  to  look  around  upon  the  novel 
place,  to  which  she  had  been  conducted — a  large  log  house 
in  the  centre  of  cleared  but  stumpy  ground.  The  soil  was 
arid  and  sandy,  and  about  it,  no  shade,  but  the  tall  trees — 
that  belted  them  in  like  living  towers  against  the  scarce 
visible  sky. 

Stepping  upon  a  log,  she  entered  th»  dwelling,  where 
incongruity  of  style  was  presented.  The  furniture  (much  of 
it  evidently  of  days  of  affluence),  mingled  with  the  odd  con 
veniences  that  a  new  situation  in  the  forest  had  occasioned 
its  owners  to  unite.  Remains  of  luxury  and  tasteful  orna 
ments  were  displayed  in  rooms  without  ceilings,  without 
window  lights  and  with  exposed  rafters,  old  plate  being 
piled  on  rude  shelves.  While  accepting  the  hospitalities 
offered  her,  Jeanie  endeavored  to  reply  calmly,  to  her  kind 
friend  who  had  brought  her  thus  far,  to  his  home. 

"  Can  you  be  contented  with  us,  in  our  wigwam,  young 
lady  ?"  said  he,  patting  her  cheek. 

"  I  ought  to  be,"  she  replied. 

The  wife  and  daughter  delayed  their  inquiries  respecting 
Jeanie,  until  they  saw  she  had  sunk  into  a  quiet  slumber, 
when  they  eagerly  listened  to  Mr.  Cameron's  narration  of 
her  sufferings,  and  to  the  circumstances  which  induced  him 
to  protect  her. 

It  was  a  tale,  that  kept  over  the  hearth-blaze,  for  long 
hours,  the  sympathetic  listeners.  And  ere  the  fair  south 
erner  laid  down  her  head  beside  the  sorrowing  Jeanie,  she 
soothingly  bathed  her  throbbing  temples,  and  kissed  the 
pale  cheek  so  wan  and  tear-stained. 

Refreshed  by  a  nap,  Jeanie  arose  after  all  was  still,  to 
look  out  upon  the  night  scene  from  the  door  of  the  dwelling. 
The  place  where  she  rested,  was  full  of  elegant  and  tasteful 


258  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

adornments,  strangely  contrasting  with  the  rude  building — 
the  almost  savage  retreat  to  which  she  had  been  conducted. 
Starting  back  in  alarm,  she  listened  to  the  howl  of  wolves 
in  the  distance  ;  and  saw  that  she  was  exposed  by  an  open 
door  to  perhaps  the  rattlesnakes  with  which  the  woods 
abounded.  Gathering  courage,  she  approached  the  opening 
of  the  shanty,  and  sat  down  at  its  entrance,  endeavoring  to 
hush  all  sounds  of  terror  in  the  song  of  the  Philomela  of 
the  southern  woods,  whose  melody  made  the  night  musical 
with  song. 

The  novelty  of  her  situation  in  the  dense  forest — the 
bright  moonlight  streaming  hi  broad  sheets  of  radiance 
within — the  majestic  trees  which  kissed  the  blue  vault  of 
heaven — the  broad  uncultivated  extent  of  soil,  bare  and 
destitute  of  a  blade  of  grass,  dotted  by  negro  huts,  was  a 
view  mystical  and  impressive. 

She  was  awed  by  the  grandeur  of  uncultivated  nature, 
and  amazed  that  a  lodge  in  that  vast  wilderness,  could  repre 
sent  such  union  of  refinement  and  rustic  seclusion. 

With  her  excited  imagination,  she  could  almost  fancy  she 
heard  the  pot  of  a  witch  boil,  as  the  lurid  light  of  brush 
fires,  about  which  the  negroes  still  gathered,  blazed  under 
the  trees,  and  the  stealthy  step  of  one  belated  was  seen 
going  home  to  his  hut.  The  impression  of  that  night  was 
never  effaced  from  her  memory.  The  melody  of  the  south 
ern  nightingales  (the  mocking-bird),  was  inexpressibly  sweet 
and  soothing,  and  the  air  soft  and  balmy. 

The  peculiar  holiness  and  stillness  of  the  hour,  awakened 
intense  religious  feeling.  She  looked  into  the  patches  of 
midnight  blue,  that  gleamed  with  stars,  dimly  seen  in  the 
brighter  effulgence  of  the  moon,  and  around  on  the  trees  of 
giant  strength,  that  sentinelled  her  like  an  army  with 
unfurled  banners  ;  and  far  beyond,  guarding  her,  pictured  a 
winged  host  from  heaven's  golden  court. 


T  u  li  o  u  G  u    THE   WOOD.  259 

She  thought  with  tears  of  gratitude  of  Him  who  had  car 
ried  her  safely  through  the  wilderness,  and  the  greater  perils 
of  deep  waters — though  into  a  land  far  from  her  kindred,  yet 
one  of  kindness  and  mercy. 

Then,  with  a  sigh,  came  over  her  memory  the  probable 
fate  of  Mr.  Hamlin. 

Leaning  back  on  the  rough  timber  of  the  dwelling,  her 
pale  face  upturned,  in  rapt  intense  thought,  she  seemed  a 
Sibyl  in  poetic  dream.  But  a  second  look  revealed  more 
than  fancy  ever  pictured  in  a  young  sweet  face.  It  told  of 
sad  realities.  Hers  was  not  now  beauty  of  feature  or  com 
plexion — though  of  both  she  had  enough — but  as  the  light 
of  a  star,  chaste  and  luminous,  shines  through  the  morning's 
misty  veil,  her  spirit  revealed  itself. 

The  movements  of  Jeanie  disturbed  the  young  sleeper 
within,  who  rose,  fearing  she  was  ill.  A  negro  woman  lay 
bundled  up  like  a  piece  of  upholstery  on  the  floor,  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  who  rolled  her  eyes  on  Jeanie,  and,  raising 
her  woolly  head,  dropped  it  like  a  brick. 

An  arm  slid  about  Jeanie's  waist,  and  a  gentle  voice  urged 
her  to  retire.  Thus  won,  she  became  confiding  and  affec 
tionate,  and  before  morning,  Virginia  Cameron  knew  much 
of  Jeanie's  sad  burden.  In  return,  she  told  her  of  reverses 
that  had  brought  her  from  a  lovely  southern  home,  of  dear 
friends  abandoned  for  retrieval  from  debt,  and  of  a  sacrifice 
of  the  heart  to  accompany  her  parents  into  the  forest.  Her 
struggles  were  pictured  to  Jeanie's  imagination,  and  in  sym 
pathy  for  another  she  forgot  her  own  trials,  and  ere  she  fell 
asleep,  realized  that  every  heart  carries  its  own  burden,  and 
that  it  is  not  alone  the  duty  of  the  sufferer  to  bear  the  trials 
of  life,  but  to  bear  them  cheerfully. 

The  morning  in  the  southern  forest  was  one  of  magical 
splendor.  There  was  no  growth  of  under  shrubbery  to 
attract  the  eye,  and  she  was  north  of  the  latitude  where  the 


260  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

magnolia  spreads  its  glossy  leaves,  and  the  pomegranate 
gleams  with  scarlet  blossoms.  Farther  down,  too,  bloomed 
the  crape-myrtle,  with  its  brilliant  pink  clusters — all  these 
Virginia  had  in  her  Alabama  home  ;  here  was  but  the  sub 
limity  of  Nature's  undesecrated  kingdom.  Beyond  the  lim 
its  of  the  plantation  the  soil  was  unbroken,  save  by  the  path 
which  led  out  of  the  sombre  woods.  Here  the  deer  roved, 
and  the  savage  might  have  lurked  undisturbed  in  his  free 
dom.  Near  by,  the  sun  poured  down  its  rays  on  broad  fields 
of  growing  cotton. 

Jeanie  was  amazed  to  see  the  household  assemble  from 
different  tenements  about  the  main  dwelling  to  breakfast, 
and  wondered  if  some  of  them  had  not  found  their  lodgment 
with  the  squirrels  and  paroquets,  so  little  was  the  gathering 
like  that  of  a  northern  family.  Some  of  the  male  sex 
appeared  with  their  guns  and  sporting  equipments  from  the 
forest,  where  they  had  slept  in  hammocks.  Breakfast  was 
served  in  the  broad  hall,  unsheltered  from  without,  where 
servants,  many  in  number,  stood  in  waiting.  When  Jeanie 
and  Virginia  appeared,  Mr.  Cameron  and  his  wife  had 
already  taken  their  coffee,  and  roved  off  together  to  visit 
some  of  the  negro  huts,  each  one  of  the  family  breakfasting 
at  their  leisure,  and  in  the  manner  most  agreeable. 

Horses  were  then  ordered,  when  the  young  ladies  departed 
in  a  bridle-path  for  the  woods.  On  the  saddle  Virginia  was 
mostly  at  home.  So  Jeanie  passed  many  of  her  hours  of 
sojourn  on  this"  southern  plantation,  examining  with  the 
eagerness  of  a  child,  the  verdure  new  to  her.  With  the 
instinctive  delicacy  of  a  refined  mind,  she  soothed,  without 
opening,  the  wounds  of  Jeanie,  endeavoring  to  while  away  the 
days  of  suspense,  passed  with  trembling  eagerness  by  the 
latter. 

From  the  time  of  Jeanie's  supposed  loss,  Mr.  Miller  rap 
idly  declined  in  health.  His  countenance  grew  sunken  and 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  261 

haggard,  and  his  moods  desponding.     At  his  earnest  request 
Jane  Selden  came  from  the  farm  to  visit  him. 

Together  they  talked  of  Jeanie,  whom  they  had  resigned 
as  not  among  the  living. 

A  month  had  elapsed,  since  with  its  crushing  weight  the 
sad  news  came,  when  the  letter  from  Mr.  Cameron  was 
received,  announcing  her  safety,  and  situation  at  his  home. 

The  invalid  opened  the  communication  in  presence  of  his 
family,  tardily.  He  had  ceased  to  feel  interested  in  matters 
of  business,  and  believed  this  from  Ralph,  who  was  now  in 
the  country  of  Louisiana. 

But  when  the  joyful  news  was  revealed,  like  the  sudden 
opening  of  heaven's  light  upon  the  dungeon  sufferer,  it 
stunned  him  with  its  overwhelming  power.  A  film  came 
over  his  eyes,  the  blood  rushed  to  his  heart,  and  the  form  of 
the  sick  man  rolled  from  his  chair. 

Much  alarmed,  Arthur  hastily  perused  the  letter,  when 
agitation  deep  and  intense  pervaded  a  circle  but  lately  one 
of  gloom.  Every  face  in  the  group  was  pale  with  joy. 
A  murmur  of  thrilling  emotion  escaped  every  lip,  Mr.  Miller 
exclaiming  with  the  return  of  sensibility,  as  if  to  Heaven  : 

"  Let  these  arms  once  embrace  her  and,  oh  Lord  !  thy 
servant  will  depart  in  peace." 

Arthur  read  and  re-read  the  epistle,  kissing  the  postcript 
of  Jeanie,  with  tears  that  blotted  the  page.  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  alone  silent.  After  the  first  burst  of  joy,  he  sat 
holding  the  trembling  hand  of  his  friend  ;  his  eyes  averted 
from  the  glistening  sunken  orbs,  that  ran  over,  from  grat 
itude  and  weakness.  While  believing  her  lost,  he  had 
enshrined  her  in  his  heart  as  the  object  of  his  first  holy 
affections.  He  had  appropriated  and  espoused  her,  while 
he  lived  on  the  memory  of  her  last  look.  To  him  she  had 
given  her  last  appeal ;  to  him  entrusted  her  work  on  earth, 
and  for  him  prayed  with  her  last  sweet  breath.  His  pure 


262  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

beautiful  ideal  he  could  no  longer  shelter  and  protect,  for  she 
who  had  composed  it,  breathed,  lived,  and  in  her  lovely 
presence  would  again  bless  the  hearts  of  her  friends — their, 
not  his,  little  Jeanie. 

He  was  angry  with  himself,  that  he  had  dared  such 
sacrilege,  as  even  in  thought,  to  claim  her  for  his  own — to 
cherish  her  in  secret,  affording  him  the  sweetest  page  in  the 
book  of  memory — she  so  young — the  childlike,  trusting 
Jeanie  ! 

He  was  glad  that  so  close  a  veil  shrouded  his  emotions  ; 
and  that  no  one,  not  even  the  "ewe  lamb"  herself,  could 
ever  know  how  wild,  how  presumptuous  had  been  his  dream. 

A  dream,  a  vision,  had  indeed  been  the  love  for  little 
Jeanie,  to  Philip  Hamlin — filling  the  aching  void  that  had 
for  fifteen  years  made  his  wearied  heart  but  a  receptacle  for 
buried  hopes  :  but  now  he  put  the  reality  far  from  him — 
never  after  the  blessed  news  came  of  her  preservation, 
thinking  of  her  as  he  had  dared  to  do,  when  he  held  her  a 
wearied  sleeping  child  in  his  arms.  That  she  had  suffered 
in  her  belief  of  his  loss,  as  he  had  done  in  that  of  hers,  he 
could  not  credit ;  although  in  her  letter  to  her  father,  she 
had  feelingly  alluded  to  the  grief  he  must  endure  in  the  loss 
of  his  friend.  His  first  impulse,  was  to  go  immediately  for 
her  ;  and  either  bring  her  to  the  North,  or  leave  her  with 
her  mother  in  New  Orleans  ;  but  Arthur  had  made  similar 
arrangements,  which  were  indisputable.  Both  had  forgot 
ten,  in  their  eagerness  to  regain  the  lost  child,  that  Ralph 
was  now  in  the  same  region,  and  coming  immediately  to 
New  Orleans,  having  been  South  on  business  of  Mr.  Mil 
ler. 

The  latter  suggested  he  should  be  instructed  to  forthwith 
seek  her,  and  place  her  under  the  protection  of  her  mother, 
he  hoping  to  meet  her,  on  his  way  to  Havana,  trusting,  if 
briefly,  to  prolong  his  life  by  the  change  of  climate. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  263 

How  could  Mr.  Hamlin  advise  this  course  ?  The  protec 
tion  of  a  wild  boy  !  for  such  Ralph  would  ever  be  in  his 
-estimation — and  yet,  with  his  brother's  improved  habits, 
could  he  raise  an  objection  to  a  plan  so  feasible  ?  Ealph 
was  within  a  day's  journey  of  her  present  location,  and  the 
distance  from  the  North  was  not  then  easily  overcome. 

Mr.  Hamlin  stifled  his  rebellious  feelings,  and  made  no 
objection  to  the  plan  finally  resolved  upon  by  her  father 
and  brother — that  the  gay,  but  now  his  trustworthy 
younger  brother,  should  be  the  escort  and  companion  of 
her  journey. 

A  lettet  from  the  invalid  was  accordingly  dispatched  to 
Mr.  Cameron,  with  an  out-pouring  of  his  gratitude,  and  by 
the  same  mail  went  many  loving  epistles  to  Jeanie. 

To  Mr.  Hamlin  was  appointed  the  task  of  acquainting 
Ralph  of  the  duty  required  of  him,  which  he  reluctantly 
but  faithfully  performed — filling  his  letter  with  injunctions, 
and  such  advice  relative  to  the  care  of  the  "  child  of  his 
employer"  as  caused  its  impatient  recipient  to  throw  it 
aside,  as  "  superfluous  nonsense  " — considering  his  experi 
ence  in  all  "  chivalrous  adventures  with  damsels  of  both 
high  and  low  degree."  "  A  bore  enough,"  he  declared  it 
"this  care  of  a  school-girl,  without  a  sermon  on  moral 
responsibility,  natural  depravity,  and  original  sin,  as  a 
prefix  to  the  trouble." 

Ralph  Larkfield,  had  not  to  his  knowledge  ever  met  Jeanie; 
and  now  felt  little  inclination  to  go  farther  into  the  woods, 
in  the  present  state  of  the  roads,  for  any  object — much  less, 
as  he  soliliquized,  "  among  the  Red  River  savages  to  look 
up  children."  But  seeing  no  alternative,  he  wrote  to  Mr. 
Cameron,  to  "  have  the  girl  ready,"  naming  the  time  when 
he  would  call  for  her. 

Jeanie  had  "been  desponding  all  day,  because  no  letters 
had  come  by  the  weekly  mail,  which  was  brought  on  horse- 


264  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

back,  and  at  this  season  often  soaked  by  its  passage  through 
bayous  and  swamps.  But  now,  since  the  late  heavy  rains, 
the  water  was  high — log-paths  had  floated  off,  and  the  roads 
rendered  almost  impassable — circumstances  which  had 
delayed  the  communication,  on  a  subject  of  such  deep  and 
thrilling  interest  to  all  concerned  ;  but  when  evening  came, 
and  Mr.  Cameron  handed  her  the  long  looked  for  package, 
stained  and  half  effaced  as  it  was,  all  sensations  were  over 
come  in  emotion  made  intense  by  the  news  of  Mr.  Hamlin's 
safety.  Lastly  was  read  the  communication  to  Mr.  Cameron, 
in  which  he  learned  that  they  must  part  with  the  little  girl, 
they  had  all  begun  to  fondly  love. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  trust  our  Jeanie  with  this 
young  man,"  said  the  planter. 

"  May  be  is  not  so  youthful,"  said  both  mother  and  daugh 
ter,  perusing  the  epistle  from  Ralph. 

"  I  reckon  he  is,"  replied  Mr.  Cameron,  laughing,  "  and 
too  fast  for  my  little  Yankee  prude  ;  that  I  know  from  the 
tone  of  his  letter,  and  some  of  his  emphatic  expletives.  Read 
this  about  the  roads,  and  the  danger  attendant  upon  his 
'wine  and  plunder.'"  Mr.  Cameron  read  on,  and  with  a 
shout  exclaimed  (in  the  language  of  Ralph),  to  his  wife  :  "  Be 
sure  and  have  the  girl  ready,  without  delay." 

"  Not  very  sedate,  I  fear,"  said  Mrs.  Cameron,  looking  at 
Jeanie.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  pensive  thought.  With 
apprehension  of  the  water,  and  timidity  respecting  the  stran 
ger,  she  summoned  courage  and  said  : 

"  He  is  Arthur's  partner,  and  Mr.  Hamlin's  brother  ;  I  am 
not  afraid  that  he  will  not  take  good  care  of  me." 

Virginia  looked  sad,  in  view  of  the  parting  ;  and  proposed 
to  Jeanie  to  take  one  last  walk  together.  Their  arms 
entwined,  they  went  forth  for  a  long  ramble,  clinging  more 
affectionately,  in  view  of  their  separation.  How  pleasant 
had  now  become  the  sandy,  hard  paths,  which  at  first  looked 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  265 

to  her  so  bare  and  cheerless  ;  in  them  she  had  learned,  it  is 
not  in  the  greenest  walks  of  life,  one  always  finds  the  most 
cause  for  gratitude — and  on  no  flowery  scene  in  the  garden 
of  the  North,  had*  she  felt  herself  so  near  to  Heaven,  as 
when  bereft  of  home  and  friends,  she  had  stood  alone  among 
the  solemn  towers,  that  had  kept  for  centuries  their  restless 
eternal  wave  on  high — the  rushing  of  the  winds  through 
their  branches — the  anthems  of  the  birds  their  eternal 
music.  Here  she  had  found  no  beautiful  green  hills  on 
which  to  rest  her  eye,  no  valley  of  sequestered  beauty  ;  but 
she  had  learned  that  there  was  no  spot  so  wild,  but  that  it 
could  be  made  one  of  contentment  and  happiness — no  place 
so  barren  of  society  and  life's  pleasures,  but  could  be  pro 
ductive  of  enjoyment  to  hearts  governed  by  the  law  of  kind 
ness. 

A  loud  call  had  been  made  for  the  dogs  the  next  morning, 
when  Jeanie  heard,  mingled  with  the  usual  sounds  prepara 
tory  to  hunting,  that  of  a  young  man's  voice,  uttering  in 
vehement  language,  denunciations  on  his  night's  experience  ; 
and  the  troublesome  time  he  had  finding  his  way  to  his 
present  destination,  which  were  delivered  in  no  gentle  tone  to 
the  servant,  who,  with  grinning  obeisance,  took  his  animal  at 
the  door  of  the  dwelling. 

With  trepidation,  Jeanie  felt  that  her  new  escort  had 
arrived  :  throwing  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  her  young 
friend,  she  exclaimed,  "  Dear  Virginia — he  has  come  ;  but  I 
know  he  is  so  annoyed  with  the  trouble  I  have  occasioned 
him.  Do  look  out  and  see  him — I  dare  not !  tell  me  how  he 
looks  !" 

The  young  girls  had  not  yet  appeared  from  their  outer      ^- 
lodgment — the  little  building  with  its  one  rough  timbered 
room  ;  but  had  long  heard  the  negroes  swearing  about  the 
grounds,  the  cackling  of  fowls,  and  the  active  preparations 
ever  going  on,  on  a  southern  plantation,  for  the  accustomed 

12 


266  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

morning  sports,  but   still   rested,  chatting  and  lamenting 
their  coming  separation. 

As  Virginia  complied  with  the  request,  by  peeping  forth 
from  a  wide  crack  in  the  logs,  she  caught  a  view  of  a  fash 
ionably  dressed  young  man,  of  handsome  exterior,  bespat 
tered  with  mud,  which  a  negro  was  whipping  off,  while  he 
employed  himself  shaking  out  his  tumbled  curling  hair,  in 
the  meantime  'making  inquiries  of  the  servant  respecting  his 
master. 

"  Oh,  yaas  mass'r,  he  done  shot  bag  o'  partridge  fore  dis." 

"  Any  one  at  home,  boy  ?  I  have  ridden  since  daylight, 
and  am  ravenous  as  a  wolf." 

"  Missis  be  up,  sar  ;  and  de  young  missis  be  long  in, 
reckon,  when  dey  hear  de  hosses." 

••  By  this  time,  Virginia  appeared  in  view,  her  face  radiant 
with  the  excitement  of  the  new  arrival.  She  turned  to  say 
to  the  tardy  Jeanie  : 

"He  is  so  handsome  1" 

"  Oh  dear,  but  he  so  hated  to  come  !" 

"  Don't  feel  so,  Jeanie  darling — I  do  not  believe  that  he  is 
so  uncourteous.  Let  Jipsey  smooth'  your  hair." 

Finally  persuaded,  Jeanie  proceeded  towards  the  house 
with  Virginia — her  appearance  contrasting  unfavorably  with 
that  of  the  pretty  southern  girl,  for  truly,  she  was  exter 
nally  in  a  sad  plight,  having  lost  in  the  boatfs  wreck  her 
wardrobe,  save  her  disfigured  habiliments,  now  ruined  by 
her  perilous  adventures  on  the  river. 

Virginia's  cheek  wore  a  bright  flush,  as  she  entered  the 
presence  of  the  young  man,  who,  on  the  door-log,  awaited 
the  coming  of  .her  father,  from  his  morning  hunt. 

Jeanie,  instead,  was  pale  and  timid,  and  unpleasantly 
affected  by  the  reluctance  manifested  by  her  escort  in  the 
duty  he  had  undertaken. 

With  her  eyes  downcast,  and  her  features  subdued  in  their 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  267 

expression,  she  was  less  inspiring  to  the  gay  Ralph,  than  the 
smiling,  beaming  young  beauty,  who  cordially  gave  him  her 
hand,  with  a  welcome  to  their  home. 

Startled  with  a  vision  so  sweet,  he  presented  his  own, 
and  with  an  indifferent  bow  to  Jeanie,  seated  himself  by 
Virginia,  with  whom  he  was  talking  familiarly,  when  Mr. 
Cameron  appeared  with  his  gun,  followed  by  a  brace  of 
pointers. 

"  Welcome  to  Deer  Wood,  young  man.  You  have  had  a 
night  of  it.  And  how  comes  on  the  '  wine  and  plunder  ?' 
I  have  saved  the  young  lady  for  you  ;  and  by  your  looks,  I 
think  we  have  met  before — eh  ?" 

"  Most  assuredly  we  have,"  said  Ralph,  with  a  sudden 
glow  of  pleasure  ;  "and  where  is  the  young  woman  who  was 
with  you  on  the  river  ?" 

"  Why,  Jeanie,  have  you  not  been  presented  ?" 

With  sudden  recognition,  Kalph  Larkfield  rose  from  his 
chair,  and  went  across  the  room  where  Jeanie  had  retreated, 
and  with  his  old  frank  manner  said  : 

"  This  happiness  is  so  unexpected,  I  ask  ten  thousand  par 
dons  for  the  oversight.  But  remember,  that  I  never  saw 
you  by  daylight.  You  did  not  come  on  deck." 

The  eyes  that  had  so  fascinated  Jeanie's  young  admirer 
were  now  raised,  with  a  serious,  half  plaintive  look,  as  if 
deprecating  observation,  while  she  said  : 

"  I  did  not  know  you" — then  blushing,  thinking  of  his 
unwilling  coming,  and  that  he  was  a  brother  of  Mr.  Hamlin, 
and  that  she  ought  to  be  more  gracious  to  him,  if  he  did 
deplore  the  trouble  she  was  to  give  him. 

"  I  certainly  did  not  think  that  my  prophecy  would  so 
soon  be  fulfilled,  and  that  so  soon,  and  here,  we  should 
'  meet  again.' " 

The  recollection  of  the  few  moments  when  she  had  so  wil 
lingly,  impulsively  given  her  hand  to  a  stranger's  clasp,  and 


268  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

that  that  stranger  was  now  to  be  her  companion  and  escort 
on  the  same  long  journey,  caused  her  heart  to  beat  flatter 
ingly. 

Her  agitation  was  too  perceptible  to  escape  the  notice  of 
Ralph.  He  said,  in  a  lower  voice  : 

"  But  to  meet  and  part  so  soon,  was  not  the  gist  of  the 
prophecy.  I  have  come  to  take  back  with  me  a  child  of  a 
friend,  who  is  here,  and  I  suppose,  ready  for  me,  or  I  would 
prevent  such  a  catastrophe." 

With  her  eyes  widely  expanded,  Jeanie  looked  at  the 
speaker,  her  features  glowing  with  earnest  inquiry. 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  that  child — that  trouble 
some  burden,  for  whom  you  are  to  suifer  such  martyrdom  ?" 

"  The  martyr  then  purchases  heaven  by  his  sufferings.  I 
am  indeed  too  happy  to  find  that  I  have  so  misunderstood  my 
brother.  Deacon  Phil  spoke  of  you  as  a  child  ;  but  I  sup 
pose  you  seemed  so  to  him,  at  his  venerable  age." 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  mistake — I  look  older  than  I  am." 

The  cheek  that  was  turned  aside  to  hide  the  betrayal  of 
embarrassment  enchained  the  eyes  of  Ralph,  who  endeavored 
in  vain  to  assure  Jeanie  that  any  service  he  could  render  her 
would  afford  him  too  much  satisfaction  to  cause  feelings  of 
obligation.  Virginia  wondered  how  Jeanie  could  fail  to  par 
don  him.  His  ingenuous  manner,  and  fascinating  address, 
made  her  at  once  forgive  an  offence  she  had  once  thought 
inexcusable.  As  he  glanced  from  one  sweet  girl  to  another, 
he  hardly  knew  which  he  would  like  best  for  a  travelling 
companion.  He  began  to  be  ashamed  of  his  ill-hunior. 

Jeanie  soon  left  to  make  preparations  for  her  journey.  A 
flirtation  meantime  went  on,  when  Ralph  convinced  Virginia 
he  was  deeply  smitten  with  her  charms,  and  that  a  hundred 
such  roads  could  not  keep  him  from  again  visiting  Deer  Wood. 

Jeanie  returne'd,  equipped  for  their  journey,  looking  again 
so  much  like  the  fair  will-o'-the-wisp  that  had  fascinated  him 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  269 

on  the  river,  heart  enlisted,  he  only  awaited  her  movements 
to  be  off. 

It  was  evident  to  Ralph,  that  she  had  not  only  read  his 
letter,  but  overheard  his  impatient  remarks.  The  parting 
affectionately  made,  the  young  travellers  set  out  on  their 
journey,  in  a  rumbling  vehicle,  drawn  by  an  equivocal  look 
ing  animal,  of  the  genus  Mustang,  a  beast  with  the  best 
training  manifesting  few  amiable  characteristics,  and  this 
one  of  a  sample  decidedly  mulish.  Thus  they  started  to  go 
through  the  southern  parish. 

The  morning  was  fresh,  and  the  verdure,  from  a  recent 
shower,  green  and  sparkling.  The  roads  were  badly  gullied, 
their  condition  judged  by  the  deep  pools  of  water  about  the 
plantation.  The  prospect  looked  dubious  for  rapid  or  suc 
cessful  progress,  but  Ralph  would  not  listen  to  talk  of  delay, 
and  all  urgent  invitations  for  a  longer  visit  weTe  by  him  deci 
sively  declined. 

With  gay  spirits  he  had  seated  his  charge,  and  departed 
amidst  the  cheers  of  the  household.  The  greater  the  diffi 
culties,  the  more  romantic  and  exciting  seemed  to  him^  a 
journey  made  suddenly  agreeable  in  prospect.  But  he  was 
soon  annoyed  from  an  unlooked-for  source.  Although  de 
pendent  alone  upon  him  for  society,  Jeanie  continued  taci 
turn  and  uninspired  by  his  varied  moods. 

Yet  there  was  no  lack  of  excitement  ;  at  times  she  would 
be  thrown  off  her  seat  into  the  crazy  old  buggy,  to  rebound 
and  strike  her  head  against  the  top,  then  fall  over  against 
Ralph,  while  down  ditches  and  over  logs,  and  swamped 
lightwood,  they  travelled  fast  as  obstructions  permitted, 
towards  Red  River. 

Refusing  assistance,  the  resolute  Jeanie  continued  to  brave 
all  difficulties  in  their  progress,  endeavoring  to  sit  demurely 
upright,  an  effort  so  completely  defeated,  as  to  cause  much 
merriment  to  the  gay  Larkfield. 


270  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

But  in  vain  the  latter  tried  to  recover  the  social  position 
that  he  felt  he  had  momentarily  secured,  while  on  the  river  ; 
such,  as  he  believed,  established  his  title  to  a  familiar  ac 
quaintance  should  they  meet  again.  Her  sole  aim  seemed 
to  remain  a  cipher  to  him  on  his  journey,  sitting  by  his 
side  neither  company  nor  burden.  That  she  was  beside  him 
in  her  fairy  presence,  he  felt  with  pleasure,  for  Ralph  had 
been  in  love  with  his  starlight  acquaintance  since  the  first 
moment  of  his  interview  with  her,  and  that  she  was  the  same 
lovely  girl  who  had  given  him  her  confidence,  he  felt  with 
each  intonation  of  a  voice,  whose  sweet  accents  had  first 
won  him. 

Ralph  thought  of  a  cigar  in  lieu  of  her  graciousness. 

"  Is  smoking  objectionable  to  you  ?" 

"  Don't  regard  me,  Mr.  Larkfield,  I  beg,  more  than  if  I 
was  not  with  you  ;  and  pray  excuse  me,  for  not  better 
keeping  my  seat." 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Miller — for  all  past  improprieties." 

The  tone  and  speech  was  emphatic,  and  although  its 
raillery  was  evident,  still  it  piqued  Jeanie,  who  pouted  a 
little,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  her  companion.  She  now 
more  firmly  braced  herself  against  the  side  of  the  vehicle. 

"  You  have  a  very  cool  way  of  telling  me,  that  you  are 
both  independent  of  my  society  or  aid,"  said  Ralph  with 
affected  hauteur. 

"  I  know  that  you  have  come  a  long  way  for  me,  and  I 
am  so  much  indebted." 

"  You  are  certainly  the  most  uncompromising  young  lady 
I  have  ever  met.  Let  me  see  if  you  are  in  earnest." 

Ralph  made  an  eifort  to  see  the  face  he  so  much  admired, 
momentarily  bewildering  the  vision  of  Jeanie  with  a  smile, 
as  he  seemed  to  ask  why  she  was  so  inaccessible. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  pardon,  Mr.  Larkfield,  you  are  very 
obliging  and  kind." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  271 

A  jolt  lengthened  Jeanie's  last  words  into  a  half  scream, 
when  with  the  same  impetus,  she  was  again  thrown  resist 
less  against  Ralph.  With  a  loud  laugh  that  echoed 
through  the  forest,  he  held  down  with  one  arm,  the  bound 
ing  figure,  and  reined  in  his  somewhat  fractious  beast. 

"These  'thankee  marms'  are  inevitable.  If  you  don't 
sit  more  quietly,  I  shall  have  to  return  for  assistance." 

With  her  vivid  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  Jeanie  could  no 
longer  preserve  her  gravity,  and  although  she  continued 
her  efforts  to  be  companionless,  ceremony  was  banished  by 
the  sympathy  at  once  established  between  them  in  their 
common  efforts  to  resist  the  law  of  gravitation. 

"I  am  surprised  and  shocked,"  continued  Ralph — as 
Jeanie  rocked  with  a  to-and-fro  motion. 

"I  cannot  help  it,  apologized  Jeanie,  you  drive  so  fast" — 

"  Whoa  1  beauty — now  see  if  you  can  be  more  civil, 
because  I  am  going  to  light  another  cigar,  and  wish  to  be 
exempt  from  additional  danger." 

"  I  cannot  forget  that  you  came  over  this  same  road 
yesterday,"  laugh'ed  Jeanie,  "  and  are  yet  alive." 

"  Yes,  and  for  one  so  unappreciative — but  I  think  you 
will  yet  beg  for  assistance,  when  the  door  of  mercy  will  be 
shut  upon  you.  If  I  had  been  with  you  on  the  boat,  I 
fancy  you  would  not  have  been  in  these  woods  to-day." 

"  Do  not  say  so,  it  was  my  own  imprudence,  that  separ 
ated  me  from  Mr.  Hamlin." 

"  Ah  !  this  reminds  me,  of  Philip's  injunction  not  to  let 
you  patrol  the  decks,  and  other  dangerous  public  places." 

Jeanie  understood  Ralph  to  have  quoted  his  brother 
literally  ;  and  felt  keenly  mortified  that  Mr.  Hamlin  should 
have  thought  such  an  injunction  necessary.  "  Am  I  so 
giddy  ?"  she  soliloquized  :  "  docs  he  think  me  such  a  child  ?" 
she  then  recalled  his  reproof,  when  for  the  second  time,  he 
found  her  making,  as  he  called  it,  a  "public  display." 


272  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Deeply  coloring  at  the  thought  of  such  a  condemnation, 
she  said  :  "  The  caution  was  unnecessary." 

Ealph  observed  the  flush. 

"  How  would  you  like  such  surveillance — espionage  I  may 
call  it  ?  because  I  mean  to  fulfill  his  directions  in  the  letter, 
and  to  the  letter." 

"  That  depends  upon  the  guardian  I  have.  You  know 
I  do  not  mean  to  tax  you,  Mr.  Larkfield,  or  check  your 
amusement  on  the  boat." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  thinking  of  my  trip  up  the  river,  and  I 
dare  say  saw  me  at  the  card-table,  but  indeed,  Miss  Jeanie, 
I  must  expel  from  your  brain  some  preposterous  ideas,  that 
have  found  lodgment  there.  If  it  was  not  an  awkward 
matter,  getting  on  my  knees,  riding  over  stumps,  I  would  in 
a  situation  so  affecting,  inform  you,  you  were  the  most 
charming  little  simpleton  I  ever  came  across,  to  suppose  I 
would  not  be  snagged  on  land  or  water  to  take  this  drive, 
asking,"  Ralph  spoke  in  a  lower  tone,  "  as  my  reward,  the 
privilege  of  again  turning  chiromancer.  The  prediction 
should  not  now  be  so  indefinite." 

The  allusion  embarrassed  Jeanie,  who  suddenly  assumed 
her  former  reserved  manner.  , 

To  his  surprise  he  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  flatter,  or 
become  familiar  with  one,  whose  manner,  occasionally, 
was  strikingly  like  that  of  her  mother  in  her  proudest 
moods.  He  was  puzzled,  having  been  accustomed,  young 
as  he  was,  to  flirt  with  every  pretty  girl  he  met,  and  to 
successfully  dupe  the  most  accomplished  coquettes,  with  his 
rare  fascination  of  tone  and  address. 

The  drive  and  its  exercise  in  the  morning  air,  invigor 
ated  the  frame  of  the  delicate  traveller,  causing  her  cheek 
to  kindle,  though  the  color  was  too  fleeting  to  characterize 
her  beauty  as  blooming. 

With  her  feelings  of  diffidence,  under  the  guardianship 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  ,  213 

of  one,  whom  she  believed  had  assumed  it  reluctantly,  still 
it  was  impossible  with  her  sensitive  appreciation  of  kindness, 
to  be  insensible  to  the  devotion  of  Ralph  to  her  comfort. 
Thus  her  manner  to  the  latter  was  unaccountably  capricious, 
such  as  sometimes  piqued  him  into  disregard  v  of  her,  then 
winning  him  by  her  smiles  and  confidence  to  the  display  of 
his  former  admiration. 

He  knew  not  why  she  exercised  over  him  a  power  so 
potent.  He  was  an  admirer  of  beauty,  but  Jeanie  was  not 
brilliant  enough  to  constitute  his  ideal.  She  was  too 
delicate  in  health  for  his  boisterous  spirits,  and  too  reserved 
for  the  flirtation  he  had  promised  himself.  He  had  not 
intended  to  love  the  "  little  prude,"  as  he  called  her,  but 
anticipated  an  exciting  conquest  of  her  affections.  He  was 
chagrined,  and  felt  unqualified  contempt  for  her^  admiration 
of  all  outward  prospects.  If  he  ever  inclined  to  call  a  girl 
ill-bred,  he  did  Jeanie.  For  who  else  had  so  annoyed  him, 
on  so  brief  an  acquaintance  ? 

It  might  be  she  disliked  his  cigar.  He  threw  it  away, 
but  wished  he  had  it  again,  for  she  still  counted  the  hosts 
of  the  interminable  forest. 

He  often  became  irritable  from  her  displayed  indifference, 
and  during  their  journey  occasionally  manifested  his  petu 
lance  openly  and  causelessly. 

He  had  left  the  buggy  to  gather  for  her  a  rare  flower. 
She  carelessly  lost  it — he  believed  she  threw  it  intentionally 
away.  At  the  time  a  large  snake  came  in  their  path,  it 
alarmed  the  horse,  who  reared,  and  threw  himself  back  upon 
his  haunches. 

"  Sit  still  and  keep  quiet,"  said  Ralph,  half  sternly. 

Jeanie  suppressed  a  scream,  but  when  she  saw  the  veno 
mous  reptile  curl  himself  for  a  spring  towards  them,  she 
grasped  his  arm,  and  begged  him  to  allow  her  to  jump  from 
the  wagon. 

12* 


274  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

With  a  vexed  look,  lie  replied  :  "  No — will  you  not  trust 
me  to  take  care  of  you  ?  Release  my  arm,  and  let  me 
drive  past  the  fellow." 

Without  delay,  Ralph  rose  from  his  seat,  and  with  the 
reins  firm  in  his  clasp,  struck  his  beast  several  hard  blows, 
urging  him  forward.  With  a  fling-up  of  his  head,  and  a 
bound  that  threatened  his  harness,  the  mustang  cleared  the 
snake,  who  had  sprung  towards  the  buggy,  but  missed  his 
aim.  The  fright  caused  an  exhibition  of  all  the  unarniable 
qualities  possessed  by  the  animal.  With  a  countenance 
expressive  of  his  disdain  of  those  within  the  vehicle,  and 
curiosity  towards  the  reptile,  he  pricked  up  his  cropped 
ears,  elevated  his  cropped  tail,  and  with  a  snort  that  bespoke 
defiance  to  three-headed  Hydras,  with  a  general  bristling 
up,  and  a  simultaneous  dance  of  all  his  legs,  the  horse 
started  on  a  furious  run,  over  brush-wood  and  stumps,  until 
he  had  exercised  himself  into  an  unnecessary  perspiration, 
when  he  as  suddenly  stopped,  and  turned  his  head  with  a 
fiery  but  vigilant  look  towards  his  now  exasperated  driver, 
and  his  alarmed  companion. 

Rage  caused  Ralph  to  tremble  and  grow  pale.  With 
the  butt-end  of  his  whip,  he  leaned  forward  and  whacked 
the  obstinate  animal  until  Jeanie  screamed,  and  begged 
him  to  desist. 

With  no  reply,  save  a  look  expressive  of  anger,  and  an 
oath  reflecting  on  the  character  of  his  beast  and  all  his 
connections,  Ralph  used  his  efforts  of  action  and  speech 
to  start  him  ahead.  But  all  to  no  purpose.  He  still  stood 
immovable,  looking  in  the  face  of  his  enraged  commander. 

"  I'll  break  his  neck,  or  make  him  turn  his  knotty  head," 
said  Ralph,  as  he  sprang  from  the  buggy. 

In  vain  Jeanie  implored  ;  with  every  movable  limb  within 
reach,  Larkfield  pommelled  the  invincible  beast,  who  mani 
fested  no  idea  of  changing  his  purpose  or  position.  With 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  275 

his  sides  reeking  with  foam,  his  eyes  gleaming  like  fire,  and 
his  legs  apart,  he  stood  in  a  fixed  defiant  position. 

The  appearance  of  the  horse,  and  the  now  despairing 
look  of  Ralph  (who  stood  with  his  cap  off,  wiping  his  fore 
head,  aiid  panting  with  his  exercise),  excited  Jeanie's  sense 
of  the  ridiculous,  causing  her  to  smile  through  the  tears' 
coursing  down  her  face. 

"  Coax  him,"  said  she  ;  "  give  him  some  water,  or  some 
thing  to  eat — poor  old  Mustang." 

"  I'll  coax  him  with  fire  and  brimstone,  and  his  owner  too. 
They  shall  both  see  the  infernal  regions,  before  I  have  done 
with  them.  The  scoundrel  that  I  hired  him  of,  ought  to 
have  an  eagle  at  his  liver  through  eternity  for  this  imposi 
tion.  You  had  better  alight  here,  and  while  we  lunch, 
perhaps  the  rascal  will  conclude  that  he  has  looked  long 
enough  for  snakes." 

"  I  will  try  my  power  over  him,  if  you  have  not  killed 
him,  whipping  him  so  dreadfully."  Going  to  his  head, 
Jeanie  laid  her  little  hand  upon  his.  face,  and  with  a  caress 
ing  motion  and  soft  tones,  bes'ought  him  playfully  to  look 
the  other  way. 

Larkfield's  rage  now  turned  into  amusement. 

"  He's  a  Pegasus,  worthy  of  translation,  if  he  has 
lost  his  wings.  Could  I  find  a  hornet's  nest,  I  would  set 
it  about  his  ears,  and  test  his  'native  sprightliness.'  I 
wish  you  could  have  heard  how  he  was  lauded  to  me  for 
this  qualification.  Leave  him,  and  we'll  take  a  snack. 
Thank  fortune,  I  have  some  consolation  in  the  box." 

Fear  of  snakes  at  first  alarmed  Jeanie,  but  Ralph's  invi 
tation  to  the  repast  of  which  he  soon  made  a  tempting 
display,  was  accepted.  Before  the  stiff-necked  brute  he 
placed  a  bag  of  corn. 

"  The  best  of  southern  bacon,  bread,  wine  of  Burgundy, 
and  water  from  Hyperia's  spring — of  which  will  you 


276  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

partake,  fair  damsel  ?"  Ralph  bowed  low,  as  host  of  tlie 
entertainment. 

"  But  are  there  no  savages — no  wild  beasts  here  ?" 

"  Plenty  of  them — don't  you  hear  'em  growl  ?"  Ralph 
showed  a  brace  of  pistols  and  a  bowie-knife — making  a 
flourish  of  his  weapons. 

The  courage  and  decision  in  the  manner  of  the  speaker, 
in  spite  of  his  braggart  valor,  impressed  Jeanie,  and  as  he 
actively  exerted  himself  in  spreading  a  blanket  upon  the 
grass,  and  in  the  arrangement  of  various  dainties,  she  had 
never  before  thought  him  so  handsome. 

He  first  brought  out  from  the  box  a  ham-bone  with  some 
biscuit,  which  he  promiscuously  scattered  with  pickles, 
chicken  joints,  cheese,  cold  eggs,  pepper,  salt  and  other 
condiments  which  the  jolting  had  shook  together,  into  a 
ragout  suiting  the  most  fastidious  Frenchman.  It  was  well 
seasoned,  and  as  in  the  jumble,  some  of  the  matches  were 
smoking,  Ralph  congratulated  Jeanie,  that  the  repast  was 
not  underdone.  He  had  taken  better  care  of  some  bottles, 
which  came  out  of  a  pail  of  straw,  and  with  a  display  of 
affectionateness,  wiped  them,  praising  their  ruby  glow  as  he 
held  them  in  turn  up  to  the  sun.  Then  came  a  hunt  for  a 
corkscrew,  which  he  found  in  a  small  sweet-potato  pudding. 
It  was  ridiculous  to  see  how  things  were  shaken  up.  But 
no  matter  where  it  was,  Ralph  put  it  in  its  proper 
place. 

"  After  you,"  said  he  with  a  comical  gesture,  holding  the 
opened  bottle  to  the  lips  of  Jeanie. 

"  Excuse  me — I  prefer  water." 

"  Do  you  see  here  ?"  clapping  his  hand  on  his  weapons, 
"  You  are  under  my  care  and  authority.  Don't  you  remem 
ber  Philip's  directions  ?  You  have  not  a  good  seat — bless 
me,  you  are  sitting  on  a  sunbeam — here,  take  this  sheep 
skin — anything  but  my  wine-basket.  Take  a  drop — do." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  277 

"  No — I  never  drink  wine,  and  wish  that  you  would 
not." 

"  I  can't  do  myself  such  wicked  injustice.  I  should  for 
ever  lose  all  self-respect,  to  so  neglect  an  old  friend.  Why, 
Miss  Jeanie,  I  hold  it  my  duty  to  be  a  supporter  of  the 
press — first  assuring  myself  the  article  issued  is  racy  and 
sparkling." 

"  Are  you  not  fatigued  ?"  said  Jeanie,  archly. 

"  Well,  it  was  an  effort — the  next  may  be  better.  Look 
around  you  now,  (Ralph  put  the  bottle  in  the  straw,) 
while  I  perform  some  chemical  experiment  on  this  con 
glomerated  pie :  it  is  a  little  too  full  of  mustard  and 
sulphur  to  agree  With  my  physique.  You'll  find  this  chicken 
unmatched,  I  think.  Now  don't  be  stupid  :"  Ralph  affected 
dignity, 

"  That  will  do  better,"  said  Jeanie,  laughing. 

"  Then  I  need  not  write  its  gender  under  the  bird  this  time  ?" 

"  1  will  excuse  you,  so  that  you  give  an  eye  to  our  amia 
ble  steed."  0 

"  Have  you  looked  at  him  ?  I  dare  not  for  fear  I  shall 
shoot  him.  What  if  he  refuses  to  go  on,  anft  we  are  left 
here  like  the  babes  in  the  wood  ?  Would  you  cry  ?  I 
would  cover  you  up  with  leaves  by  day,  and  bay  the  moon 
like  a  bull-dog  at  night.  I  think  our  provender  is  likely  to 
last — it  is  well  cured." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Larkfield,  yon  terrify  me  at  the  thought,  (her 
gushing  laugh,  denying  her  words, )  what  might  happen  to 
us  ?  Do  be  very  steady,  and  see  if  the  horse  is  behaving 
better." 

"  If  not  it  might  be  well  to  apply  to  his  neck  some 
liniment.  I  will  conquer  him  by  some  manipulating 
process." 

"Don't,  please,  whip  him  any  more." 

"  Just  take  a  peep  :  I  must  fulfill  my  duty  to  this  bone, 


218  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

when  after  a  quaff  of  the  nectar,  I  will  endeavor  to  perform 
it  to  him.  But  stop,  leave  the  wretch  awhile,  I  will  find 
a  hollow  tree,  where  we  can  moralize,  poetize  and  enjoy  the 
beauties  of  nature,  as  serenely  as  a  pair  of  pigeons  on  a 
wood-shed.  Don't  step  on  the  grass — but  I  won't  tell  you 
why.  Now  do  be  appreciative — a  golden  sky  !  if  we  could 
but  see  it — a  mantle  of  velvet,  only  it's  terribly  moth-eaten— ^ 
Gothic  arches,  kissing  the  invisible  stars — by  the  way — 
what  an  ugly  veil  you  wear."  Ralph  pulled  aside  the 
obstruction  to  the  view  he  sought,  and  if  he  was  still  more 
audacious,  we  can  only  judge  by  the  reproof  of  Jeanie  : 

"Mr.  Larkfield  !  you  are  very  presuming — I  will  not 
walk  with  you." 

"Well,  so  be  it — I  think  you  are  ungrateful — that's 
all." 

The  wild  Ralph  was  reproved,  and  thrown  on  his  reserved 
rights  ;  still  Jeanie,  inconsistent  as  she  might  be,  was  fascin 
ated,  and  although  conscious  of  the  dangers  attending  her 
journey  through  the  Igng  wood,  she  felt  partially  safe 
with  him,  if  her  confidence  was  not  like  that  she  had  felt 
under  the  protection  of  Philip. 

Yet  pure  and  entire  as  was  this  perfect  reliance,  was  it 
of  the  same  enchaining  power,  as  that  which  absorbed  the 
faculties  of  her  being,  when  mingled  with  the  wildest 
mischief,  Ralph  plead  for  some  return  of  the  devotion, 
which  silenced  her  tongue,  and  for  mpments  spell-bound  her 
with  the  witchery  of  his  beguiling  presence  ? 

Why  was  it,  she  had  no  time  to  think  ?  no  power  to  check 
his  exuberant  spirits,  that  alarmed  her  with  their  controlling 
influence — and  though  he  displeased  her  at  one  moment, 
why  did  she  laugh,  sigh,  and  forgive  him  the  next  ? 

Seated  on  the  trunk  of  the  same  old  tree  in  that  wild 
deep  forest — resting  against  the  same  ivy  wreathed  tower, 
their  young  hearts  beating  with  impulses  warm  and  tender, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  279 

craving  the  sympathy  that  is  inborn  with  human  nature — 
the  forest  beautiful,  leafy  and  secluded,  the  passionate  eyes 
of  the  one,  resting  upon  the  river-blue  depths  they 
reflected  ;  hearing  the  low  confession,  the  low  earnest 
inquiry,  was  it  cause  for  marvel  that  our  heroine,  with  all 
the  pure  teachings  of  her  childhood,  "the  teachings  of  the 
monitor  within,  her  veins  thrilling  with  the  first  breath  of 
human  passion,  should  hesitate,  her  tongue  falter,  in  her 
repulse  of  Ealph  ? 

Then  wonder,  reader,  for  the  "No — no,"  quivered  the 
lips  that  shrank  from  the  ardent  kiss,  with  which  he  would 
seal  a  compact  between  them*. 

Then  white  as  a  snow-crystal,  her  delicate  cheek  grew, 
as  conscience  wrestled  with  her  newborn  love.  "  No — no," 
was  still  the  firm  denial — was  he  not  yet  a  stranger — and 
headstrong  in  his  intemperate  language,  and  in  the  exhibi 
tion  of  his  admiration  and  preference  ?  No — no — she 
could  not  trust  him. 

Ralph  Larkfield,  when  chagrined^wore  a  haughty  mien  ; 
he  did  not  urge  his  suit,  for  he  saw  her  shrink,  if  not  poldly, 
shudderingly,  from  him.  But  that  she  had  hesitated, 
trembled,  in  her  refusal,  was  a  salva  to  his  wounded  pride. 
What  did  she  know  of  him,  he  queried,  that  she  could  not 
give  him  her  faith,  as  she  had  her  beautiful  smiles — aye 
even  her  tears  and  blushes  ? 

Why  had  she,  so  young,  so  keen  an  eye,  so  sensitive  a 
conscience  ? 

Ralph  Larkfield  knew  nought  of  the  instructions  of  the 
maiden  aunt,  or  that  since  her  infant  years  she  had  been 
taught  to  control  feeling  by  the  guidance  of  reason  and 
principle — to  think  and  act  conscientiously  though  every 
emotion  of  her  breast  warred  with  the  contending  pas 
sion. 

Long  miles  they  had  ridden  together,  he  looking,  loving, 


280  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

she  dreaming,  musing,  yet  shrinking  from  her  daring,  too 
gallant  admirer. 

Ralph  Larkfield,  as  we  have  before  intimated,  was  a  boy 
of  high  adventure.  He  had  run  the  gauntlet  with  many  an 
older  suitor,  for  the  sport  of  winning,  but  had  never  loved. 
He  had  but  one  aim — to  amuse  himself.  He  was  pleased 
that  he  had  been  mistaken  in  the  child  of  his  employer, 
when  he  found  a  beautiful  girl  of  full  growth,  and  womanly 
symmetry,  instead  of  the  school-girl  of  his  imagination. 

He- thought  so  now,  as  she  stood,  her  dilated  form  against 
a  tree,  her  sweet  lips  slowly  speaking  : 

"  Papa  asked  you  to  bring  «me  to  my  mother.  Is  it  not 
wrong  to  play  by  the  way  ?" 

"  Did  you  never  hear  of  one  Tantalus,  who  was  placed  to 
the  chin  in  water,  with  apples  hung  before  his  lips,  tor 
mented  with  thirst  and  hunger,  but  as  soon  as  he  attempted 
to  drink,  the  waters  subsided,  and  the  apples  flew  off  when 
he  sought  to  catch  them  ?" 

Jeanie  gave  the  speaker  a  kind,  reproachful  look.  "  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  Tantalizing." 

"  Well  then,  Miss  Miller,  we  will  see  how  our  Beauty  is 
disposed.  Perhaps  the  corn  has  mollified  him.  We  must 
find  a  fountain  to  slake  his  thirst,  and  go  on  with  his  per 
mission.  Stay  here  a  moment." 

Ealph  went  to  seek  the  spot  where  he  left  hia  conveyance 
and  horse,  but  to  his  consternation  discovered  no  appearance 
of  either.  He  looked  about  him  in  vain — the  bag  was  left 
divested  of  its  contents,  and  tracks  of  the  buggy  were  visi 
ble.  He  feared  Jeanie  would  be  alarmed  at  his  absence, 
and  returned  to  her. 

"  His  Highness  has  turned  his  head,"  said  he,  "  but  I  am 
sorry  to  say  in  a  new  direction,  and  taken  an  independent 
route  for  parts  unknown." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Larkfield  !  what  shall  we  do  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  281 

"  Just  as  I  say.     Remain  here  until  I  find  him." 

"  And  leave  me  here  alone  ?" 

"  Will  you  go  with  me  ?  We  may  have  a  long  tramp. 
I  shall  follow  the  wheel-ruts." 

"  Don't  forsake  me  !" 

Ralph's  displeasure  passed  away  at  this  appeal. 

"  I  thought  you  would  prefer  my  absence." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  prefer."     Jeanie  burst  into  tears. 

"  Take  my  arm,  and  don't  cry." 

The  two  started  off  to  find  the  horse.  Sometimes  the 
wheel-marks  were  plainly  visible,  then  by  patches  of  under 
brush  they  would  lose  sight  of  them.  As  they  searched  in 
vain,  Jeanie  became  wearied,  and,  by  Ralph,  sat  down  to 
rest,  saying,  despondingly,  "  Oh  !  how  much  like  life  this  is 
— searching  for  something  ever  ahead." 

"  He'll  be  a  royal  inheritance  when  we  reach  him  !  How 
tired  you  look  1  Don't  your  poor  little  feet  ache  ?" 

"  No — only  they  are  frightfully  scratched.  Hark  !  I 
heard  something  ! — something  like  a  horse  shaking  himself." 

Eagerly  both  proceeded  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  came,  when  in  the  distance  they  saw  the  upset 
vehicle,  and  the  mustang  lying  upon  the  grass,  rolling  and 
kicking. 

"  Mirabile  dictu  !  Mirabile  visu  !"  cried  Ralph,  clasping 
the  waist,  and  jamming  the  bonnet  of  Jeanie,  in  his  delight. 
So  sympathetic  was  her  joy,  the  consequences  seemed  likely 
to  prove  critical  to  the  dignity  of  each. 

On  examination,  Ralph  found  the  injury  done  to  the  con 
veyance  not  great,  and  the  horse  manageable.  He  had 
luckily  provided  himself  with  cords,  and  other  apparatus 
necessary,  in  case  of  accident,  and  after  removing  the  beast 
from  the  harness,  mounted  him  to  return  for  his  "plunder." 

"I  cannot  well  bring  all  we  need,  unless  I  leave  you.  I 
will  be  soon  back.  Are  you  afraid  ?" 


282  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  No,"  said  she,  looking  about  her  fearfully. 

"  I  shall  be  absent  a  half  hour."  He  looked  at  Jeanie. 
He  saw  she  was  pale  and  in  a  tremor,  and  dismounted. 

"  Get  on  before  me,"  he  said.  "  Are  you  on  ?"  Ralph 
leaped  into  the  saddle,  and  with  his  arms  about  Jeanie,  rode 
back  to  the  spot  where  they  had  lunched.  The  horse 
rebelled  at  the  proceeding,  but  by  a  pair  of  spurs  put  in  use, 
was  made  to  go  forward.  They  had  a  merry  ride.  Deer 
bounded  in  the  distance,  and  birds  chirped  in  the  branches, 
beneath  which  they  brushed.  Joy  made  their  hearts  merry, 
and  not  until  their  arrival,  were  they  startled  by  anything 
unlocked  for.  But,  much  to  their  amusement,  a  flock  of  tur 
key-buzzards  were  holding  a  festal  meeting  over  the  remains 
of  their  meal,  and  so  thick  was  the  sable  brood,  it  looked  iu 
the  distance  like  an  infant  colony  of  blacks. 

Now  for  a  scatter  ! 

Ralph  imprudently  fired  upon  them.  With  a  simultane 
ous  outcry,  the  birds  took  leave,  not  waiting  for  dessert  or 
wine,  but  not  without  manifested  hostility  on  the  part  of  the 
mustang,  who  took  umbrage  at  fire-arms.  Fanciful  and  per 
ilous  were  his  steps — a  style  of  dancing  inconvenient  to  his 
riders.  This  exercise  was  especially  obnoxious  to  Ralph, 
causing  likewise  discomfort  to  his  beast,  not  only  about  his 
flanks,  but  severe  friction  about  the  mouth  and  ribs. 
Jeanie  held  on  bravely,  while  her  conductor  dismounted  with 
loud  hurrahs. 

The  essentials  were  soon  obtained,  when,  after  filling  his 
pockets  with  the  remaining  wine-bottles,  he  again  turned 
towards  the  path  for  the  buggy. 

Repairs  made,  with  more  refreshment,  Ralph  (not  forget 
ting  Jeanie's  coldness),  seated  her  as  ceremoniously  as  if  a 
hundred  spectators  were  by,  to  attest  to  his  indifference  to 
the  matter. 

The  quadruped  was  now  well  disposed,  which  he  mani- 


SfHKOUGH     THE     WOOD. 

fested  by  various  motions,  the  chief  of  which  were  the 
graceful  switches  of  his  tail.  Ralph  did  not  forget  his 
misconduct,  and  kept  him  well  disciplined. 

The  last  ten  miles  his  driver  grew  more  complacent, 
manifesting  his  returning  good  humor,  by  stopping  to  gather 
wild  flowers  for  Jeanie,  which  became  more  plentiful  in  the 
latitude  of  the  bay  and  live  oak,  around  which  the  vine  of 
the  jasmine  and  honey-suckle  climbed.  He  dressed  his 
horse's  head  to  please  her,  Jeanie  meanwhile  full  of  merri 
ment  and  laughter. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  I  will  take  the  reins  to  rest  him,  he 
looks  so  beautiful." 

"  You  will  scare  the  Dryades  from  the  woods,  with  your 
furious  speed.  Give  us  a  song,  Euterpe." 

"  Agreed,  if  you  will  alight,  turn  Satyr,  and  reward  me 
by  a  fantastic  dance." 

Ralph  played  with  a  flowering  bush,  showering  over 
Jeanie's  head  the  blossoms,  who  .with  her  bonnet  thrown 
back,  joyously  chirruped  to  the  horse,  and  highly  elated 
with  her  new  employment,  passed  affectionate  encomiums  on 
Beauty's  behaviour. 

"  I  think,"  said  Ralph,  jocosely,  "  I  can  perform  any 
miracles  while  you  hold  the  ribbons,  and  then  as  soon  arrive 
at  the  vale  of  Tempe."  Leaning  back  he  commenced  a 
song,  in  which  Jeanie  merrily  joined. 

"  Orpheus  and  Circe  I"  interrupted  the  bass.  "  Hear  ye 
not,  rocks  and  stones,  0  son  of  Calliope  !  By  Apollo  and 
the  Muses — we  have  tamed  one  beast !  Give  me  the  strings, 
wood-nymph,  unless  you  wish  to  see  me  turn  into  half-man 
and  half-goat." 

Still  singing  and  laughing,  Jeanie  reluctantly  resigned  the 
reins  to  her  companion,  who  had  wearied  of  their  slow 
progress.  Heedless  of  her  entreaties,  he  began  to  apply 
the  whip,  urging  on  the  slow  jogging  animal. 


284  THE    To  RCH  LIGHT  ;    oifc, 

"  Ob  !  pray  stop,"  urged  the  alarmed  girl,  who  feared 
some  new  evidence  of  caprice. 

"  Just  long  enough,  to  take  a  drop  of  the  grape,  unless 
you  have  secretly  quaffed  it." 

"  I  beg  of  you  not  to  drink  any  more."  Jeanie  looked 
imploringly,  as  Ralph  pulled  from  a  valise  his  last  bottle. 

"  Please  don't  '  play  by  the  way,'  Miss  Miller,  and  behave 
more  properly,  than  to  interfere  with  my  mode  of  refreshment. 
Your  papa  wished  me  to  see  you  home — that  is  my  sole 
business,  and  yours  to  see  that  I  do  it."  Then  putting 
aside  Jeanie's  hands,  he  (holding  up  the  wine)  sung  : 

-   '  Tis  when  the  fancy-stirring  bowl 

Doth  wake  its  world  of  pleasure, 
That  glowing  fancies  gild  the  soul 
And  life's  an  endless  treasure.' " 

More  impetuously  than  ever,  he  now  drove  onwards. 
Seeing  Jeanie's  alarm,  he  seemed  inspired  with  the  desire 
to  tease  and  vex  her,  and  with  feigned  indifference  continued 
his  music,  now  with  pathos  and  sweetness,  singing  a  love 
song  of  Moore's. 

Agitated,  Jeanie  expostulated: 

"  Have  you  no  pity  for  my  fatigue,  if  you  care  not  to 
alarm  me?" 

"  Pity  is  akin  to  love  : 

'  In  vain  you  bid  your  captive  live" 
While  you  the  means  of  life  deny.' " 

"You  will  kill  me,  and  the  poor  horse  I" 
"  Have  you  no  bribe  to  offer  me  ? 

'  There  glides  a  step  through  the  foliage  thick, 
And  her  cheek  grows  pale — and  her  heart  beats  quick, 
There  whispers  a  voice  thro'  the  rustling  leaves, 
And  her  blush  returns,  and  her  bosom  heaves.' 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  285 

"Is  there  no  voice  sweet  trembler,  thus  potent  in  its 
power  to  thee  ?  answer,  and  I  will  stop." 

Jeanie  burst  into  tears,  refusing  a  reply. 

Ralph  slackened  his  pace.     "  Are  you  really  alarmed  ?" 

In  vain  her  young  admirer  implored  forgiveness,  and 
apologized.  Jeanie  could  not  readily  recover  from  her  fright 
or  wounded  feelings.  Wearied  to  almost  exhaustion,  -she 
looked  with  anxiety  to  the  termination  of  their  ride  ;  her 
courage  only  sustained  by  the  hope  that  each  mile  would  be 
the  last. 

It  had  been  a  long  and  perilous  drive,  for  two  so  young, 
to  take  in  that  uncultivated  country.  Stray  negroes  often 
crossed  their  path,  looking  to  Jeanie  fearful  as  they  skulked 
and  hid.  Others  with  respectful  mien  passed  them,  with 
obeisance  so  friendly,  that  Jeanie  could  not  but  give  them  a 
smile  in  return,  for  the  respectful  "  How-dy  ?" 

Night  was  approaching.  The  heavens  grew  dark,  from 
the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  sun,  now  obscured  by 
threatening  clouds.  Rattling  thunder  was  heard,  seemingly 
splitting  the  arch  above,  whence  red  lightning  issued.  Then 
came  a  pause.  Ralph  looked  into  the  face  of  Jeanie,  and 
laughingly  told  her  not  to  fear,  that  the  cloud  was  "  passing 
over." 

But  Jeanie  knew  that  it  was  not,  but  that  its  volume 
would  soon  be  upon  them,  and  that  the  storm  would  be  very 
terrible.  She  felt  this  predicted  in  the  atmosphere,  which 
was  full  of  dry  heat,  a  sense  of  weariness  being  imparted  by 
the  heavy  air.  And  she  was  right — Ralph  knew  that  a 
tempest  was  brewing,  and  that  it  was  not  far  distant.  Pul 
ling  up  the  boot,  he  drew  Jeanie  farther  within,  and  begged 
uer  not  to  be  alarmed. 

In  quick  gusts,  the  winds  blew  through  the  tree  tops  a 
wailing  monotone,  like  that  of  the  sea.  Brushing  around 
them,  fell  crackling  branches  ;  with  stir  and  commotion,  as  if 


286  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

In  fear  of  some  great  Behemoth,  the  forest  arrayed  in  solemn 
conclave,  would  roar  dread  opposition  to  its  approach. 
Resistance  was  vain ;  the  great  Chimera,  with  his  gusty 
breath,  could  not  be  stayed,  and  as  if  to  make  grander, 
more  sublime  its  coming,  Heaven's  artillery  with  successive 
explosive  booms,  sounded  its  cannonade,  as  it  were  a  last 
war-cry  upon  a  sinful  world. 

Then,  amidst  the  flash  and  thunder,  came  down  the  rain, 
beating  an  outpoured  flood  upon  them. 

Disguising  his  real  terror,  Ralph  sung  words  of  light  and 
frivolous  import,  then  with  violent  language,  berated  the 
storm,  his  blood  meanwhile  chilling,  in  the  view  of  God's 
scathing  power.  Exposed  beneath  trees  of  gigantic  height, 
some  shrivelling  into  flames,  lightning  struck — they  drove 
onwards. 

"  Have  all  the  forgers  of  Jupiter's  thunderbolts  broke 
loose?"  cried  Ralph,  "Heavens  1  I  see  no  chance  for  pro 
tection  ?" 

With  this  angry  exclamation,  he  momentarily  sheltered 
Jeanie,  and  with  violent  blows,  caused  his  horse  to  plunge 
violently  through  the  reeking  forest. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?" 

"  Only  of  you.  God  is  in  the  storm  and  whirlwind.  He 
can  protect  us.  Oh  !  be  not  profane,  in  an  hour  like  this." 

"  Forgive  me,  I  forgot  your  timidity,  but  that  the  hurri 
cane  should  come  upon  us,  so  near  our  journey's  end,  is 
enough  to  make  one  forsake  his  mother." 

"Oh  !  do  not  call  down  upon  us  the  wrath  of  Heaven." 

"  There  is  no  fear  with  you  on  sea  or  land,  so  much  piety 
can  save  us  both.  Great  Vulcan  !  what  a  flash  !" 

As  Ralph  spoke,  a  quick  report  was  heard,  that  seemed  to 
shake  the  forest,  the  lightning  glare  revealing  the  face  of 
Jeanie,  white  and  death  like. 

"  There  is  no  cause  for  alarm,"  said  Ralph,  attempting  to 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  281 

laugh,  "  only  you  will  turn  into  a  mermaid.  I  had  rather 
cross  the  river  Styx,  than  this  forest  again  with  you,  who 
seem  born  to  be  drowned  1" 

"  Do  not  say  that  there  is  no  danger — I  know  there  is  ; 
among  all  these  high  trees,  but  we  cannot  avert  it — let  us 
prepare  to  meet  it — and  do  not  be  irreverent." 

The  storm  seemed  to  louder  howl — heavier  to  pour  the 
rain. 

"  The  seven  phials  will  soon  be  upset,"  exclaimed  Ralph, 
muttering  his  ill-luck  ;  in  the  same  breath  deploring  amidst 
his  category  of  tribulations,  his  failure  in  wine. 

"  Do  not  be  so  wicked — I  implore  of  you  1"  said  Jeanie, 
in  a  tone  that  checked  his  impatience  and  irritation,  which 
were,  unknown  to  her,  aggravated  by  his  potations. 

"  Are  you  not  wet  as  when  in  the  Mississippi,  in  a  scollop 
shell  with  the  immaculate  Phil,  whom  you  seem  to 
venerate  ?" 

"I  am  very  wet — we  were  in  more  danger,  in  far  worse 
peril  then,  but  your  brother  calmed,  instead  of  terrifying 
me." 

"  That  he  is  capable  of  doing — he  has  often  calmed  me, 
till  I  did  not  know  whether  I  was  a  soft  clam,  or  a  fallen 
angel.  You  must  have  had  a  merry  time  with  the  deacon, 
more  prose  than  poetry,  I  fancy.  Poor  little  soaked  bird  ! 
I  am  afraid  you  haven't  a  dry  feather.  •  Take  my  cloak,  I 
can  do  without  it.  It  is  a  pity  I  have  not  a  drop  to  warm 
you  with.  Thank  Heaven,  we  are  not  now  far  from  our 
stopping-place." 

As  they  made  a  turn  upon  the  road,  the  path  became 
wider,  showing  an  outlet  from  the  forest.  The  heavens 
suddenly  grew  lighter ;  sunshine  filled  the  atmosphere, 
making  visible  an  old  French  town.  Flowering  trees  were 
dripping  with  the  rain,  their  gay  colored  blossoms  emitting 
fragrance,  as  they  fell  plentifully  to  the  earth.  The  china- 


288  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

tree  made  the  air  sick  with  perfume,  and  around  the  old 
piazzas,  lay  crushed  sweets,  beat  and  tossed  by  the  storm's 
pel  tings. 

Before  a  large  battened  tenement,  with  spacious  rooms, 
and  a  wide  hall  (in  the  South  always  a  principal  part  of  the 
dwelling),  Ralph  and  Jeanie  stopped,  wet,  cold  and  hungry. 
The  house  was  uncarpeted,  but  filled  with  French  relics,  also 
foreign  devices  on  the  walls  and  chimney.  An  upper  and 
lower  piazza,  extended  across  the  front  of  the  tenement — 
space  and  airiness  seeming  the  chief  attractive  features  of 
an  inn,  that  looked  cheerless  and  inhospitable. 

They  were  met  by  a  woman  of  quaint  and  singular 
appearance.  Her  dress  was. a  short  petticoat  of  blue, 
scarcely  reaching  below  the  knees  of  the  wearer.  Above 
the  waist,  she  wore  a  bright  jacket  of  red,  which  left  bare  her 
skinny  arms  and  neck,  the  flesh  of  which  looked  dried  and 
shrivelled.  She  was  of  a  tawny  yellow,  rather  than  of  the 
color  of  a  negro.  Her  hair  was  short,  straight,  and  black,  and 
stood  upright,  leaving  her  bloodless  face,  with  its  peculiar 
features,  fully  exposed  in  their  almost  unearthly  wildness  of 
expression.  She  seemed  jolly,  exhibiting  a  set  of  dazzling 
teeth. 

Opening  wide  the  doors  of  a  large  vacant  room,  she  flung 
on  the  hearth  an  arm  ful  of  wood,  soon  making  a  comforta 
ble  blaze  for  the  travellers.  Seeing  herself  noticed,  she 
became  communicative,  and  bragged  of  her  French  origin, 
saying  that  folks  called  her  "nigger,"  but  that  she  had  not 
a  drop  of  black  blood  in  her — that  she  came  over  in  a  ship 
with  her  master  a  hundred  years  ago  ;  and  that  her  mother 
was  a  Creole,  as  pretty  as  any  lady.  Then  showing  an  old 
ring  on  her  gristly  finger,  she  gave  a  leap  in  the  ah-  and 
out  of  the  room  with  a  bound,  singing  as  she  went  a  snatch 
of  a  French  song. 

Soon   coming  back,   she   disrobed   Jeanie    of   her    wet 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  289 

trappings,  which  service  done,  before  the  latter  was  aware 
of  the  movement,  pulled  her  as  she  would  a  baby  on  her 
lap  ;  and  when  Ralph  Larkfield  returned  after  seeking  the 
inn-keeper,  the  yellow  crone,  in  spite  of  entreaties,  was 
rocking  her  back  and  forth  violently,  while  she  sung  her  a 
crazy.- lullaby. 

"What  are  you  about  you  tawny  devil?"  said  Ralph,  as 
he  heard  Jeauie's  voice  in  terrified  expostulation.  x 

"  Lola  ride  ye,"  said  the  red-jacketed,  while  with  Jeanie, 
she  sprang  up,  as  if  on  wires,  balancing  her  with  a  see-saw 
motion  in  her  arms,  singing  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  her  old 
tune. 

Springing  like  a  tiger  upon  the  half  crazed  but  harmless 
Lola,  Ralph  sent  her  with  a  push  against  the  side  of  the 
building,  while  he  wrenched  Jeanie  from  her  bony  grasp. 
Seated  on  the  floor,  her  bare  ankles  crossed,  she  continued 
her  song. 

"  What's  all  this  ?"  said  the  master  of  the  house  in 
broken  English.  "  Has  the  wild-cat  broke  loose,  and 
come  upon  ye  ?"  at  the  same  time  shaking  a  cane  over 
Lola's  head. 

Lola  muttered  something  about  her  "  baby  " — her  arms 
swinging  and  rocking. 

"  She  won't  hurt  ye,"  said  the  landlord,  "  I  bought  her 
for  spry,  she's  good  at  a  jump,  she  is,  and  can  out-run  any 
nigger  on  the  place  on  a  heat.  She  never  sleeps,  and  can 
wait  on  a  gang  of  fellows,  on  a  bust,  the  year  round,  she 
can  ;  and  only  needs  a  show,  or  a  cock  of  my  eye,  to  make 
her  spring  like  a  painter." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Ralph,  "  but  would  like  to  see 
the  hostess  of  this  establishment,  if  you  have  any  besides 
this  one,"  pointing  to  Lola. 

"  Well,  stranger,  she's  all  I  keeps — she  is,  and  thar's  a 
heap  in  her  if  you  only  git  her  as  I  said,  on  the  spring. 

13 


290  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Why  Mister,  she  was  never  out  of  jint  since  she  was  born — 
she's  as  limber  as  a  young  kitten,  though  she  ain't  young — 
V%ry — we  don't  let  her  rust,  either.  There's  nothing  like 
keeping  well  iled;  she. ain't,  you  see,  fleshy,  but  she's  easy  on 
the  hinge — she  is.  Here,  up  gal,  and  show  the  stranger 
your  motions.  I  knows  niggers — I  knows  nothing  but 
niggers."  Saying  which,  the  ruan  gave  the  spry  one  a 
light  flourish. 

The  wild-cat  was  roused,  and  with  her  long  arms 
extended,  h«r  ochre-face  grinning  with  a  grimace,  and  her 
feet  poised  on  the  ends  of  her  toes,  she  stood  ready  for 
orders,  which  being  given  her  volubly,  and  with  menacing 
gestures,  she  bounded  across  the  room,  and  opening  the 
door  of  one  adjoining,  showed  that  a  blaze  was  there  ready 
for  the  lady  guest. 

Once  astir,  as  her  master  said,  Lola  was  spry  and  useful. 
After  setting  the  table  for  supper,  with  agile  motions, 
she  sprang  from  one  piece  of  work  to  another,  her  eye  all 
the  while  darting  quick  glances  at  her  master,  who  continued 
his  praise  of  her  "  easy  motions." 

But  Jeanie  observed,  that  with  her  nervous  and  restless 
activity,  she  grew  quiet  with  his  absence,  and  became  less 
afraid  of  her,  when  she  found  that  she  was  actually  rational 
in  preparation  for  their  night's  comfort. 

"  Come,  pretty  one,"  said  she,  "  Lola  won't  hurt  ye.  She 
don't  scratch  kittens.  I  rocked  ye,  baby,  kase  dey  took 
mine,  my  white  baby — but  I  wan't  so  easy,  so  good  on  de 
spring,  wid  her.  Come,  pretty  one,  Lola  won't  hurt  ye." 

"Are  you  afraid?"  said  Ralph,  laughing  at  Jeanie's 
timid  look. 

"  Am  I  to  sleep  here  ?" 

"  Yes,  Missy,"  said  Lola,  putting  a  low  seat  before  the 
fire  on  the  hearth,  where  stood  a  tub  of  water,  and  on  the 
table  some  hot  drink. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  291 

Jeanie  followed.  Tawny  moved  about  like  a  puppet  on 
wires  ;  first  handling  the  blazing  sticks  as  if  they  were 
fresh  from  the  wood-pile,  then  flying  to  the  outside  door, 
where  she  helved  at  a  log  of  lightwood,  rekindling  the  fire 
till  the  illumination  was  more  brilliant  than  twenty  gas- 
burners.  This  done,  she  stood  grinning  at  her  exploit,  then 
to  Jeanie's  amazement,  put  a  bowl  of  water  on  the  floor  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  after  pulling  at  her  hair,  thrust 
her  head  into  it,  holding  it  up,  seeming  to  delight  in  the 
trickling  drops.  But  fancying  she  heard  her  master,  she 
flung  the  water  out  the  door,  and  commenced  to  beat  up 
the  bed,  looking  about  her,  as  she  did  so,  inquisitively,  then 
continuing  her  kneading,  as  if  she  had  a  batch  of  biscuit 
under  her  fists.  Her  head  dry,  she  pulled  from  under  her 
apron  a  colored  bandanna  and  some  earrings,  and  after 
listening,  wound  it  about  her  head,  and  put  in  the  trinkets. 
She  seemed  pleased  and  laughed  loud,  while  adorning 
herself.  Seeing  that  Jeanie  was  amused  with  her,  she 
crouched  on  the  hearth,  and  pulled  out  of  her  bosom  a  tin 
box  of  snuff  and  a  stick,  which  after  thrusting  into  it,  she 
began  to  rub  her  teeth  with,  (this  Jeanie  afterwards 
learned,  was  a  custom  with  whites,  as  well  as  blacks,  in  the 
backwoods).  The  exhilaration  of  the  weed  set  her  chat 
tering  like  a  magpie.  She  examined  Jeanie  from  head  to 
foot,  especially  admiring  her  ornaments,  and  at  every 
outburst  of  her  admiration,  would  shut  her  form  up  like  a 
jack-knife,  unhinging  with  an  explosive  burst  of  merriment. 
No  matter  what  her  employment,  she  would  break  off,  to 
thrust  one  of  her  bare  feet  into  the  fire,  to  kick  over  a  log,  «• 
rekindle  a  stick,  using  them  as  if  they  were  tongs,  and 
with  the  same  facility  ;  which  being  done,  she  would 
resume  her  squatting  position,  to  spring  up,  if  for  nothing 
but  to  hop  over  a  broom-stick  and  kick  at  the  fire  again. 
But  amidst  all  her  performances,  Jeanie  saw  she  was  slily 


292  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

hiding  something  about  her  person,  sometimes  sitting  upon, 
then  pulling  it  from  under  her,  and  secreting  it  behind  her, 
then  under  the  hearth  rug,  and  if  she  heard  a  noise, 
running,  looking  back,  while  she  hid  it  under  the  bed,  or 
tried  to  tuck  it  into  a  crack  in  the  uncarpeted  floor.  To 
Jeanie  it  seemed  nothing  but  a  bundle,  tied  up  like  a 
rag-baby. 

"  Where  am  I  to  find  quarters,  Gamboge  ?"  said  Ralph, 
coming  to  the  open  door. 

"  Do  ye  sleep  ?"  said  the  yellow  skinned.  "  Thar's  where 
gemmens  sleep,"  pointing  across  the  hall,  "  in  dat  room — 
settin'  round  de  tables,  wid  dere  keards.  Dere's  where 
Lola  sleeps,  standing  so."  The  hag  poised  herself.  "  I 
hab  dat  kind  of  sleep — I  libs  on  de  spring — I  sleeps  on  de 
spring — and  when  I  dies,"  the  tawny  grinned,  "  I  goes  to 
de  heben  on  de  spring."  With  this,  Lola  gave  a  bound, 
and  cleared  the  doorway,  hearing  the  whistle  of  her  master. 
Coming  back,  she  manifested  to  Ealph,  that  he  was  to 
follow  her  up  stairs. 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man,  "  give  me  a  bed  here,  you 
Bedlamite,  outside  of  the  lady's  room." 

With  Lola  on  the  hearthstone,  and  Ralph  near  her,  Jeanie 
slept  quietly.  No  so  the  former  ;  the  excitement  of  the 
journey,  the  wine  of  which  he  had  freely  partaken,  and  the 
pain  he  had  paused  her,  all  combined  to  occasion  feelings  of 
restlessness.  He  felt  that  he  had  lost  the  respect  of  the 
sweet  girl,  whose  favor  was  so  highly  prized. 

Ralph  Larkfield  had,  like  others,  a  conscience,  and  it  often 
smote  him.  As  he  laid  down  his  head,  to  guard  from  dan 
ger  the  young  sleeper  within,  he  felt  how  much  stronger  and 
more  dangerous  were  the  foes  from  which  she  would  guard 
him.  He  listened  to  know  that  all  was  safe  with  his  charge, 
and  upon  a  pile  of  blankets  reposed  outside  of  her  door. 
Finally,  falling  into  a  slumber,  he  dreamed  the  storm  was 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  293 

still  raging,  that  Jeanie  was  struck  by  lightning,  while  over 
her  the  mulatto  woman  stood,  ready  to  snatch  her  from  his 
grasp.  Then,  the  scene  changing,  on  his  fractious  beast  he 
seemed  bounding  over  snakes,  which  lay  thick  as  leaves  in 
his  path,  while  the  mustang  turned  into  a  dragon,  spouting 
flames  and  red  wine.  Amidst  all,  he  saw  the  sweet  reproach 
ful  eyes  of  Jeanie,  saying,  "  Who  will  light  me  through  the 
wood  ?" 

Fairly  awake,  he  listened,  thinking  he  heard  sounds  of 
struggling  breathing  :  was  it  Jeanie  ?  He  started  to  his 
feet,  seized  his  pistol,  and  opened  the  door  ajar.  She  was 
quiet  as  a  sleeping  infant.  The  sound  came  from  the  wake 
ful  I*}la.  He  watched  her  movements.  She  was  crouching 
in  the  embers,  her  face  lighted  by  a  blaze  which  she  would 
occasionally  kick  into  vitality.  Her  form  was  bent  double — • 
her  head  over  a  broken  skillet,  where  she  seemed  stirring  a 
sooty  mess,  while  she  hugged  in  her  arms  her  bundle  of  rags, 
for  which  she  seemed  preparing  pap.  In  the  meantime,  she 
muttered  to  herself,  "  Lola  feed  baby — Lola  feed  baby," 
then  rocking  back  and  forth,  appeared  hushing  a  child.  Hear 
ing  a  noise,  she  jammed  the  rag  bundle  behind  the  fire  log, 
and  took  her  accustomed  tip-toe  attitude.  Ealph  was  satis 
fied  she  was  harmless,  but  insane.  Still,  he  could  not  sleep, 
and  watched  her  through  the  night.  In  the  morning  he  as 
certained  her  history,  as  the  Frenchman  related  it.  She 
was  little  tainted  by  negro  blood,  being  the  child  of  a  quad 
roon,  and  her  master,  of  whom  he  bought  her.  Her  moth 
er's  freedom  had  been  promised  her,  but  not  being  secured 
to  her  previous  to  her  owner's  death,  Lola  was  led  to  believe 
she  had  been  wronged,  and  in  consequence,  with  monomaniac 
delusion,  threatened  the  life  of  her  children  ;  they  were 
therefore  taken  from  her  when  infants.  She  Was  harmless, 
and  only  on  this  point  deranged.  The  Frenchman  related 
her  story  with  great  gusto,  complimenting  her  with  his  usual 


294  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

enthusiasm,  upon  her  activity  ;  and,  to  do  Lola  justice,  she 
was  the  only  spry  negro  they  met  on  their  travels.  The  fol 
lowing  morning,  Jeanie  and  Ralph  went  into  her  kitchen,  in 
which  she  was  only  a  boarder,  and  that  a  transient  one,  as 
she  ate  on  the  doorstep,  and  slept  as  we  have  described — 
on  the  spring.  But  the  domicil  had  other  occupants,  being 
inhabited  by  a  number  of  families,  and  their  descendants, 
besides  litters  of  dogs  and  cats,  hens  and  chickens,  making 
free  egress  ;  also  the  cow,  as  it  might  suit  her  convenience  or 
pleasure.  Among  black  pots,  gridirons,  washtubs,  pig- 
troughs,  and  bread  trays,  squatted  samples  of  small  negroes, 
of  different  shades  and  patterns  ;  others  swinging  outside, 
and  digging  in  the  sand.  Some  of  the  smallest  were  rolling 
on  the  doorsteps,  and  some  reversing  their  position  with 
evident  glee.  Lola  was  alone  active.  While  Jeanie  looked 
in  and  around,  she  was  edified  with  various  performances, 
one  of  which  was  getting  a  heifer  out  from  under  the  house. 
Lola  was  pulling  at  the  tail  and  a  hind  leg  of  the  animal, 
while  the  Frenchman  stood  at  the  other  end  of  the  beast, 
making  ugly  faces  to  scare  hinj  from  his  position.  It  was 
altogether  a  very  sociable  backyard. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  295 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

SERENE  and  beautiful  the  morning  dawned.  A  blue 
haze  filled  the  atmosphere,  making  dreamily  lovely 
the  flowery  landscape.  The  skies  were  cloudless,  and  the 
air  full  of  balmy  sweets.  A  breeze  rustled  the  boughs  of 
the  broad-leaved  magnolia,  and  scattered  to  the  earth  the 
pomegranate  and  oleander  blossoms,  the  deep  green  of  the 
orange  shading  the  walks — thick  flowering  shrubs  adding  to 
the  aromatic  fragrance  of  the  loftier  verdure. 

Jeanie  was  cheered  by  the  influences  of  nature,  and  hope 
fully  made  preparations  for  their  trip. 

"  I  know  you  are  ashamed  of  me,"  she  said,  catching  the 
humorous  expression  playing  on  the  lip  of  Ralph,  while  she 
endeavored  to  smooth  her  disfigured  apparel. 

"  The  dress  does  not  certainly  enhance  the  charms  of  the 
wearer." 

And  Ralph  was  right.  Jeanie  had  never  looked  so  badly 
— her  pale,  wearied  face  never  needing  so  much  the  adorn 
ment  of  dress. 

"But  it  is  not  of  your  habiliments  that  I  would  com 
plain,"  he  continued. 

"  An  insinuation  !"  Jeanie  turned  from  the  glass  with  a 
smile.  "  How  do  I  displease  you  ?" 

"  You  have  not  one  word  of  apology  for  your  ill  treat 
ment  yesterday."  Ralph  played  with  the  scarf  about 
Jeanie's  neck.  "  Have  you  no  token  to  give  me  by  way  of 
compromise  to  my  injured  feelings  ?  Not  even  a  glove  or 


296  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

ring  ?  Here  is  one,"  taking  hold  of  Jeanie's  hand,  "  that 
will  fit  my  little  finger." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Jeanie,  with  a  slight  blush,  "  for  two 
reasons.  I  see  no  occasion  for  giving  it  to  you,  and  besides, 
it  is  a  gift." 

"  From  the  parson  ?  Pray,  what  for  ?  Did  you  peg  him 
a  night-cap  ?"  Kalph  laughed,  shaking  out  before  the  glass 
his  thick  hair,  and  combing  it  with  his  fingers  ;  then,  while 
smoothing  and  pulling  his  whiskers  and  moustache,  said  : 
"  His  love  must  possess  the  genuine  divine  afflatus." 

Returning,  he  begged  again  to  see  the  ring,  and  that  she 
would  take  it  off.  "  Just  for  a  keepsake,  and  a  reward  for 
all  his  trouble."  Jeanie  plead  in  vain.  Ralph  secured  it, 
and  playfully  showed  it  to  her  on  his  finger. 

"  I  cannot — why  should  I  give  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Ah,  but  you  forget  the  snake  !  and  the  buzzards  !"  in  a 
melo-dramatic  air. 

"  When  you  terrified  me  out  of  my  senses." 

"  Didn't  I  hold  you,  instead  of  allowing  you  to  break  your 
alabaster  pedestal,  young  woman  ?  and  didn't  I  break  a  stiff- 
necked  beast  in  your  service  ?" 

"  Don't  be  nonsensical." 

"  And  fed,  warmed,  and  clothed  you,  fair  damsel  ?" 

"  I  know  that  you  alarmed  me  dreadfully." 

"  And  saved  you  from  lightning  and  tempest  ?" 

"  Oh,  pray  cease.     I  cannot  forget  how  wicked  you  were." 

"  And  have  not  one  word  of  forgiveness  for  such  a  peni 
tent  sinner  ?"  said  Ralph,  falling  on  one  knee,  clasping  the 
pretty  hand  which  he  attempted  to  kiss. 

With  a  hasty  withdrawal,  Jeanie  eipressed  her  displeas 
ure,  when  in  a  changed  tone,  full  of  earnestness,  he  said  : 

"  Without  mockery,  I  owe  you  an  apology  for  all  that  dis 
pleased  you  yesterday." 

"  That  you  offended  me,  is  of  small  consideration,"  said 


THROUGH    THE  Wo  on.  297 

Jcanie,  smiling.  "  Did  you  not  ever  read  in  the  Bible,  'As 
he  loved  cursing,  BO  let  it  come  unto  him  ;  as  he  delighted 
not  in  blessing,  so  let  it  be  far  from  him  ?'  Is  it  not  worse 
to  offend  Him  who  '  maketh  the  clouds  His  chariot  :  who 
walketh  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind/  as  you  do,  when  you 
make  use  of  impious  words  ?  If  such  terrible  sublimity  as 
we  witnessed  yesterday,  cannot  convince  us  of  the  power  of 
the  Almighty,  what  ever  can  ?" 

"  '  The  fairest  among  women.'  " 

"  Don't  make  such  use  of  the  Scriptures." 

"I  know  that  your  words,  Jeanie,  are  like  'apples  of 
gold,'  but  they  will  prove  like  Sodom  pippins,  without  your 
approbation.  I  should  have  liked  to  have  been  Jupiter,  and 
quaffed  ambrosia,  without  reproof  from  the  lips  of  my  god 
dess.  Then  you  will  not  absolve  me,  after  my  humble  con 
fession,  and  give  me  this  ring  ?  Is  there  no  bribe  that  I  can 
offer  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeanie,  turning  from  the  eyes  fixed  earnestly 
upon  her.  "  Promise  me  you  will  not  drink  wine,  or  be  pro 
fane  any  more.  Your  brother  is  not  so  reckless — would  you 
not  be  like  him  ?" 

"  Wouldn't  I  like  to  be  one  of  the  holy  Innocents  ? 
Some  day,  if  I  promise,  will  the  heart  be  added  to  the 
ring  ?" 

"  Don't  be  so  foolish — you  will  forget  the  little  girl  you 
travelled  with  " — 

"  Oh,  Jeanie  !  Our  meeting  has  been  a  romantic  one, 
and  if  any  one  on  earth  can  make  me  resist  temptation,  it 
will  be  you.  Supposing  I  was  as  good  as  Philip  ?" 

The  tone  in  which^his  last  query  was  uttered — the  inqui 
ry  implied  rather  than  spoken — the  admiration  and  love 
breathed  in  the  look,  the  words,  were  understood  by  Jeanie. 

"  There  are  few  so  good. '  You  will  have  to  change  so 
much  !" 

13* 


298  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  I  would  not  marry  a  girl,  well  as  I  might  love  her,*'  said 
Ralph,  piqued,  "  who  wished  me  to  lose  my  identity,  or  turn 
into  an  apostle  for  her.  She  must  love  me  with  my  faults, 
incorporating  them  with  myself." 

"  I  would  not  wish  one  to  feel  so  towards  me  ;  that  is  the 
reason  I  like  to  choose  friends  that  I  can  respect.  It  is  so 
difficult  to  be  good,  we  need  all  the  help  we  can  obtain  in 
example  as  well  as  precept." 

"  If  you  knew  how  I  watched  you  last  night,  you  would 
call  me  the  prince  of  guardians.  Such  an  asthma  as  I  took, 
sleeping  at  your  key-hole,  pistol  in  hand,  ready  for  glorious 
action  !  Pray,  Dulcinea,  leave  thy  preaching,  and  pity 
thy  Quixote,  who  stood  a  Gorgon  at  thy  portal.  Oh,  Jeanie, 
how  sweet  you  looked,  contrasted  with  the  old  loon,  rocking 
like  a  water  craft  at  your  feet.  I  would  rather  have  the 
sword  of  Damocles  over  my  head,  than  these  cold  looks." 

"  What  a  rattler  !"  said  Jeanie,  with  playful  remonstrance. 

"  So  are  snakes,  from  which  I  saved  you  at  the  peril  of 
my  influential  life — remember  that  when  '  we  meet  again.'  " 

Softly,  beseechingly  Jeanie  laid  her  hand  on  the  arm  of 
Ralph,  while  she  said  : 

"  Do  not  speak  of  prophecies.  I  am  half  superstitious 
about  them." 

"  No,  dear  Jeanie,  I  will  not  now,  for  we  must  be  off  to 
the  boat." 

The  water  was  high,  and  the  boat  swiftly  borne  down  the 
river. 

It  proved  a  pleasant  trip — the  society  of  Ralph  hourly 
becoming  to  Jeanie  more  agreeable.  Yet  she  trembled  as 
she  felt  the  bewitching  spell,  that  caused  her  to  linger  with, 
and  listen  to  one  whose  principles  she  condemned.  But  that 
she  had  forbidden,  and  he  no  longer  spoke  to  her  of  his  love, 
appeased  her  conscience,  and  she  unreservedly  enjoyed  his 
presence. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  299 


CHAPTER     XX Y. 

IT  was  night  when  they  reached  New  Orleans.  A  new 
moon  was  shining  in  the  heavens,  figurative  of  the 
crescent  outline,  revealed  by  the  lights  on  the  shore. 

The  evening  breeze  blew  refreshingly,  courting  Jeanie 
on  deck,  for  a  view,  which  made  her  head  dizzy  with 
thought.  She  was  anxious  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the 
city  of  sunshine  and  flowers — dearly  associated  with  her 
mother's  home.  The  boat  reached  the  levee — a  moment  to 
her  full  of  agitation,  joy  and  suspense.  Amidst  the  hurry 
ing,  bustling  crowd,  she  returned  to  the  saloon,  to  await  the 
movement  of  Ealph,  who  advised  her  to  remain  on  board 
until  morning.  The  interval  was  a  relief.  Strange  it  seemed 
to  her  that  she  should  thus  approach  her  mother's  home. 
Not  as  she  had  expected,  after  a  journey  of  pleasure  and 
novelty,  to  bound  to  her  arms,  but  after  a  long  and  perilous 
journey,  with  another  protector,  from  another  quarter. 

Ealph  had  not  told  Jeanie  of  her  father's  declining 
health,  and  no  one  had  imparted  to  her  the  news  of  his 
critical  situation.  Her  spirits  were  therefore  buoyed  with 
hope  and  love.  She  was  soon  to  find  comparative  rest. 

Joyous,  and  inspiring,  seemed  her  first  view  of  this 
pleasure  loving  city  of  the  South.  The  quays  were  crowded 
with  merchandise.  On  the  fashionable  parade,  women  of 
every  nation  flutter  their  gay  plumes  and  robes,  floating 
like  gorgeous  insects  in  the  tropical  sunshine.  Brilliant 
quadroons,  with  eyes  soft  and  languishing — peering  forth 


300  IHE    IORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

from  jetty  locks  of  bird-winged  beauty,  sail  by  imperially, 
if  yielding  the  walk  to  the  highly  bred  Creole,  in  her  simpler 
guise,  and  aristocratic  loveliness.  Here  the  Cuban  damsel 
appears  like  a  fire-fly  from  her  tropic  isle,  and  the  French 
woman  with  her  dainty  foot,  seems  to  scorn  the  pavement, 
with  breezy-tread,  an  artiste  in  dress  and  coquetry. 

Circe  is  here  the  enchantress,  and  the  dandy  flourishes 
his  cane  and  glove,  unreproved  for  idleness,  though  his 
morning  and  evening  is  spent  at  the  domino  and  faro  table. 
The  stranger  saunters  on  promenades  more  extensive,  and 
pays  his  tribute  of  respect  and  veneration  to  spots  and 
places,  sacred  from  the  associations  of  time.  Among  these, 
the  Place  d'Armes,  attracts  the  citizen  of  the  Old  World,  the 
religiously  inclined  seeking  the  Cathedral  and  churches,  with 
their  time  stained  walls,  and  foreign  pictures  and  sculpture. 
People  of  all  nations  here  find  a  congenial  home  ;  the 
Spaniard  his  comrades,  and  his  dark  eyed  senorita  ;  the 
Frenchman  his  cafe  and  the  belle  of  his  dreams  ;  and 
both,  the  fragrant  coffee  and  perfumed  weed,  without  which, 
to  them,  life  is  bereft  of  zest.  Here  all  creeds  and  religions 
are  respected  ;  and  the  Romanist  and  Protestant  shake 
hands,  differing  in  faith,  while  the  freedom,  ease  and  the 
dolce  far  wienie  found  in  a  listless  abandonment  to  luxury 
and  idleness,  is  voluptuously  enjoyed,  without  reproof  from 
the  active  bustling  merchant,  whose  search  and  aim  is  for 
the  acquisition  of  gold. 

Among  the  gayest,  is  Mrs.  Miller.  Alighting  from  her 
carriage,  she  ascends  the  steps  of  the  St.  Charles  hotel. 
It  was  then  a  building  chaste  as  a  Turkish  mosque  by 
moonlight,  and  one  of  architectural  beauty,  as  its  dome 
glistened  in  the  sun.  It  was  the  pride  of  New  Orleans,  and 
well  deserved  its  reputation. 

In  its  chief  saloon,  a  long  oval  room  of  tasteful  splendor, 
upon  a  central  divan  of  golden  threaded  damask,  sat  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  301 

mother  of  our  wandering  child.  Her  face  was  more  color 
less,  but  retained  about  the  lips,  and  in  the  delicate  flush 
occasionally  seen  on  her  cheek,  the  hue  of  health. 

Her  look  was  proud  and  impatient,  as  she  wandered  from 
mirror  to  mirror,  sweeping  her  long  dress  over  the 
carpet. 

"  There  has  been  no  such  arrival,  madam.  The  name  of 
Cameron  is  not  on  the  books." 

"  You  are  mistaken  !"  the  lady  said,  imperiously,  "  look 
again." 

The  servant  returned  with  the  same  reply,  adding,  "  there 
has  been  one  from  Red  River,  a  young  lady,  who  has  gone 
away  in  a  carriage." 

"  Enough — of  what  age  seems  she  ?" 

"  A  miss,  and  favors  you,  madam." 

At  the  door  of  the  parlor,  the  lady  met  several  gentlemen, 
who  arrested  her  progress.  With  forced  gaiety,  she  parried 
some  sallies  with  them,  they  crowding  in  her  pathway  as  she 
proceeded — giving  her  hand  to  the  constant  Lawrence,  and 
permission  to  him  to  enter  her  carriage. 

With  affected  indifference,  he  expressed  his  acquiescence, 
and  accepted  a  courtesy  which  he  had  never  before  enjoyed 
— a  public  acknowledgment  of  the  lady's  preference  for  him. 
The  toleration  of  the  beau  Launcelot's  civilities,  was  well 
known,  also  the  lady's  contempt  for  her  accommodating 
squire,  therefore,  this  movement,  so  partial  and  open, 
astounded  the  lookers-on,  to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  the 
favored  individual. 

But  one  who  had  observed  ten  minutes  later,  the  worked, 
agonized  features  of  the  pale  beauty,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
upon,  the  arm  of  her  admirer,  would  have  marvelled  more  at 
her  expression,  than  the  act.  It  certainly  was  not  one  of 
love  or  coquetry  ;  Mr.  Lawrence  knew  that  the  lady  sought 
information  ;  it  was  glory  enough  to  him,  that  others  knew 


302  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

not  the  cause  of  her  preference  for  him,  also  that  he  was 
driving  with  her  in  public,  and  at  her  request.  He  was  all 
attention. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  "  if  my  daughter  is  at  the 
St.  Charles  ;  and  with  whom  ?" 

"  There  is  one  Miller  on  the  books,"  replied  the  beau, 
"  but  I  opine  a  damsel  of  no  caste,  a  Red  River  girl,  soaked, 
and  hung  out  to  dry.  No  people  of  ~  our  stamp,  my 
lovely " 

"  Mr.  Lawrence,"  Mrs.  Miller  interposed,  angrily,  "  you 
will  remember  your  limits,  and  on  what  conditions  you 
receive  my  favor.  It  is  enough,  that  I  have  lowered 
myself  to  serve  my  own  ends  to-day.  Have  you  anything 
more  to  say  of  the  young  lady  ?" 

"Nothing"  (Mr.  Lawrence  removed  his  whiskers  and 
person  from  such  proximity  as  he  had  momentarily  believed 
possible),  "only  that  the  young  miss  was  not  as  destitute  of 
good  looks,  as  of  millinery." 

"  Anything  further,  Mr.  Lawrence  ?" 

"  That  I  took  cognizance  of  her  countenance,  as  she  went 
into  the  hall,  and  discovered  her  to  be  comely  and  well 
formed.  I  inquired  if  she  came  alone,  thinking  she  might 
find  me  available  as  an  escort,  in  her  ignorance.  She  had  a 
bizarre  appearance,  madam,  and  was  not  of  our  constella 
tion." 

With  suppressed  indignation,  Mrs.  Miller  still  queried, 
while  secretly  believing  her  child  was  kept  from  her  by 
stratagem.  "  Tell  me  all  you  can  gather  of  her  movements, 
and  the  world  shall  believe  we  are  friends.  Your  vanity 
shall  be  fully  satisfied." 

"  I  have  not  called,  madam,  upon  the  blade,  but  have 
intended  privately,  to  know  more  of  the  young  miss." 

"  How  does  the  man  look  ?" 

"  A  fellow  of  incipient  beard,"  Mr.  Lawrence  went  into 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  303 

ambush  behind  his  own,  leering  like  a  yellow  fox  out  of  a 
thicket,  "innocuous,  madam,  pulchritude  indifferent." 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  less  magnificent." 

"  I  am,  madam,  eternally,  and  without  end,  in  your  ser 
vice.  I  can  assure  you  no  female  ever  escaped  my  observa 
tion,  that  was  so  fortunate  as  to  fall  in  my  by-paths.  I  have 
a  way  of  seeming  blind,  madam  :"  Mr.  Lawrence  gave  a  lynx- 
eyed  glance  out  of  his  fur,  "  but,"  opening  upon  her  a  pair 
of  inflated  lack-lustre  orbs,  then  closing  them  with  a  squint, 
"  I  see." 

"  i  have  no  further  need  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Miller  ;  "  you 
can  leave  me  here." 

"  Not  until  I  have  given  you  the  Sacramentum  of  a  man 
of  honor " 

"Be  brief — the  horses  are  restive."  The  carriage 
stopped. 

"  It  will  be  impossible  for  me,  while  I  still  remain  in 
incertitude  respecting  my  destiny." 

"  I  understand  you  ;"  then  to  the  servant,  "  Drive  on  !" 

"  You  show  your  most  extraordinary  talents,  madam,  in  the 
management  of  your  body  politic,  of  which  I  have  the 
honor  to  be  a  most  obsequious  member."  Mr.  Lawrence 
spread  himself  to  his  most  inflated  extent,  as  they  entered  a 
public  square,  where  stood  coteries  of  gentlemen  ;  and  as 
the  carriage  stopped  before  a  palatial  looking  building, 
he  remained  for  the  space  of  three  minutes  with  his  hair  and 
face  brushing,  seemingly,  that  of  the  lady  ;  while  his  stout 
ale-filled  body,  conspicuously  supported  itself  on  the  arm  of 
her  seat. 

It  was  a  tableau  he  would  have  enjoyed  as  a  spectator. 
He  was  gratified  to  know  that  others  had  that  pleasure, 
while  callous  to  the  epithet  which  escaped  the  lips  curling 
with  contempt  :  "  Incorrigible  fool  1" 

******* 


304  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Mrs.  Miller  is  in  her  sumptuous  home,  where  she  lives 
alone,  feeding  on  her  miserable  thoughts.  For  five  weary 
years  she  has  sought  to  keep  down  every  wave  of  emotion 
that  welled  up  from  the  depths  of  her  fervid  nature,  and  to 
live  on  ambition's  spoils.  Her  laurels  are  yet  green — • 
fragrant  with  fresh  perfume  from  every  censer — her  beauty 
yet  in  its  prime — her  brow  fair  and  smooth,  her  rich  locks 
bright  as  when  they  shaded  a  cheek  less  white. 

The  morning  light  might  exhibit  less  lustre,  when  within 
her  chamber,  an  expression  of  woe  clouded  and  distorted 
her  features  ;  but  in  the  evening's7  fervid  glare,  with  the 
studious  arrangment  of  drapery,  how  radiant  and  lovely 
she  still  was  !  The  cynosure  of  her  brilliant  circle,  such  as 
her  wit,  talent  and  beauty  drew  about  her,  it  would  seem 
she  might  have  been  happy  as  such  vain  mortals  are.  But 
Elinor  Miller  by  nature  was  formed  for  higher,  ennobling 
purposes.  Bred  to  believe  that  power  was  wealth,  wealth 
the  source  of  happiness,  happiness  bought  by  popularity, 
and  popularity  only  attained  by  the  immolation  of  the  heart 
and  principles — she  made  the  sacrifice  for  the  homage  of  a 
world.  Sickened  by  the  adulation  that  came  not  from  a 
source  respected,  she  turned  in  vain  for  the  sympathy  she 
craved.  Hoping  for  it  in  her  daughter,  with  feverish  impa 
tience  she  listened  to  the  tale  of  her  existence,  but  half- 
crediting  the  rumors  that  reached  her,  while  believing  that 
arts  were  resorted  to,  to  steal  her  from  her. 

To  sail  triumphantly  on  the  sea  of  public  favor,  Elinor 
Miller  knew  she  must  be  sustained  by  influence.  Cast  off 
by  her  husband,  she  had  lost  her  moorings,  and  found  it 
critical  to  steer  her  barque,  without  shipwreck  of  that  repu 
tation  she  valued. 

Thus  the  proud  aspirant  added  haughtiness  to  her 
dignity,  making  her  condescension  but  the  more  acceptable 
for  its  rarity.  Lovers  she  had,  more  she  might  have  had, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  30") 

in  the  gay  metropolis  she  had  chosen  for  her  home,  who 
would  have  filled  her  car  of  victory,  flushing  her  cheek 
with  triumph,  to  the  sacrifice  of  many  a  loving  heart. 
Husbands  and  plighted  ones  were  in  her  train,  worshipping 
her  bright  intellect,  content  to  catch  the  scintillations  as 
they  sparkled  from  her  lip,  feeding  meanwhile  upon  her 
lustrous  beauty.  The  scholar  forgot  the  pages  of  his  lore, 
to  read  in  her  eyes  a  tale  of  sweeter  import — the  poet  his 
dreams  of  beauty  in  the  bright  reality — the  orator  his 
glorious  theme,  in  the  song  from  her  syren  tongue  ;  while 
philosophers,  men  of  science,  aye  !  even  "  men  of  God,"  in 
that  gay  city  forgot  their  vocation,  to  listen  to  her  winning 
voice,  and  enjoy  the  inspiring  presence  of  one  so  beautiful 
and  gifted. 

This  homage  brought  to  her  heart  no  peace.  Her 
standard  among  men  despised  her.  The  only  man  she  loved 
scorned  her  preference,  and  bade  her  seek  her  husband. 

In  her  hours  of  solitude  she  remembered  the  humiliation. 
But  this  was  not  all  the  wormwood  in  her  cup.  She 
believed  that  the  rumor  of  Jeanie's  loss  had  been  a  ruse, 
that  every  engine  was  set  to  work  to  deprive  her  of  her 
child,  and  that  when  the  period  came — the  impending  crisis, 
that  was  to  determine  her  choice  of  a  home,  she  had  been 
torn  from  her  and  secreted. 

She  imagined  that  Mr.  Hamlin  had  united  with  her 
husband,  in  a  project  to  defeat  her  ends.  After  the  first 
blow  occasioned  by  the  news  of  Jeanie's  fate,  she  gradually 
awoke  to  this  belief — belief  rendered  certain  by  confirma 
tion  from  her  mother,  who  had  written  her,  that  her  child's 
"  loss,"  was  all  a  concerted  plot. 

The  letter  from  Mr.  Cameron,  she  thought  to  be 
prompted  by  Jeanie,  who  determining  to  escape  from  their 
toils,  had  induced  her  protector  to  divulge  the  secret  of  her 
existence. 


306  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Believing  her  in  the  city,  she  was  now  exploring  its 
hotels,  while  Jeanie  in  her  absence,  was  in  her  mother's 
home. 

How  tasteful  was  each  decoration  !  How  the  very  atmos 
phere  breathed  of  her  luxurious  parent  !  Ralph  had  left 
her,  and  alone  she  counted  the  moments  that  passed. 
Hearing  a  carriage,  a  step  in  the  hall,  with  a  bound,  Jeanie 
flew  tfo  the  door,  and  to  her  arms. 

Wearied  with  her  search,  Mrs.  Miller  had  returned  ;  and 
like  one  distraught,  gazed  upon  her  child.  Drawing  her 
head  to  her  bosom,  with  deep  tenderness,  she  said  : 

"  You  are  all  mine — mine  henceforth,  my  Jeanie — not  a 
lineament — not  a  look  reminds  me  of  him  who  would  separ 
ate  us.  Promise  never  to  leave  me.  We  will  be  sisters, 
rather  than  parent  and  child.  How  like  we  are  !"  compar 
ing  herself  with  Jeanie  in  the  glass.  Her  eyes  were  now 
only  fixed  upon  her  face.  Suddenly  the  faded  and  worn 
apparel  of  her  daughter,  struck  her  in  contrast  with  her  own. 

"And  has  he  so  Abused  you,  as  to  dress  you  like  a 
pauper  !  What  desecration  of  your  beauty  1  And  but  for 
the  love  you  had  for  your  fond  mother,  you  would  have 
been  buried  in  those  dreadful  woods  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear  mamma — I  cannot  talk  of  all  that  has  made 
me  so  destitute — never,  never  allude  to  it.  Papa  loves  to 
speak  of  my  resemblance  to  you." 

Nervously  Mrs.  Miller  turned  the  subject.  Arm  in  arm, 
the  two  walked  back  and  forth,  the  former  almost  devour 
ing  in  her  eager  gaze  the  child  she  looked  upon,  as  if  not 
long  to  be  her  own.  Drawing  Jeanie  to  an  ottoman  at  her 
feet,  from  her  hair  she  took  the  comb  that  confined  it. 

"Let  me  see  the  length  and  luxuriance  of  these  golden 
locks,  and  the  style  of  arrangement  which  will  best  suit  you, 
so  that  Zaidee  can  dress  them  artistically.  Let  the  mass 
fall  over  your  shoulders.  How  redundant  1" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  307 

The  fashionable  mother,  shook  in  her  fingers  the  fleecy 
folds,  and  dropped  them,  holding  from  her  the  form  of 
Jeanie — gazing  on  the  youthful  face,  till  its  spirit-like 
beauty  entranced  her,  as  might  one  of  Kaffaele's  pictures. 
"  How  sweet  the  task  will  be  to  dress  you."  A  shower  of 
kisses  pressed  the  eyes  and  lips  of  Jeauie. 

"  Walk  across  the  room,  my  love,  and  let  me  see  if  you 
have  the  tournure,  so  essential  to  a  lady.  Too  simple 
yet — require  cultivation.  I  must  remodel  you.  It  is  mar 
vellous  that  those  country  people  have  not  made  you  more 
like  them.  Poor  little  demure  Jane  !  Is  she  as  properly 
behaved  as  ever  ?"  Mrs.  Miller  laughed  sarcastically. 

"  Aunt  Jane  is  lady-like." 

"  Don't  say,  Aunt  Jane,  longer,  ma  mignonne  ;  she  is  not  a 
relative  you  know.  Such  appellatives  are  rustic.  You  will 
now  drop  all  intercourse  with  these  Seldens." 

The  tears  came  to  Jeanie's  eyes. 

"  You  have  too  much  sensibility,  I  must  be  very  tender 
with  my  sweet  dove.  For  a  while  you  will  be  secluded, 
until  you  have  apparel  befitting  my  daughter,  when  I  shall 
admit  you,  at  least,  to  the  vestibule  of  my  court.  You  will 
not  come  on  the  tapis  as  a  debutante  until  next  season." 

"It  is  sufficient  to  be  once  more  with  you.  I  have  so 
mucht  to  talk  of — so  much  to  tell  you,  I  shall  care  for 
nothing  else — so  much  that  involves  our  own  happiness." 

"  What  pretty  garland  are  you  weaving  with  your  silver 
words  ?" 

"I  wish  I  could  twine  one  encircling  all  the  dear  ones  I 
love,"  said  Jeanie,  her  head  falling  on  her  mother's  hand. 

"This  is  very  sweet  and  sentimental,  fairy,  but  I  have 
done  with  Lalla  Eookh.  You  shall  feed  like  a  humming  bird 
in  my  bower,  but  must  never  bring  sober  realities  before  me." 

With  these  words,  the  mother  and  her  child  parted  for 
the  night. 


308  THE    TORCH    LIGHT;    OR, 

"It  is  all  a  delusion,"  hope  whispered  to  Jeanie,  "that 
separates  my  dear  parents.  I  shall  be  the  bond  of  union 
— the  peace-maker  between  them."  Then  the  thought  of 
the  divorce  came  over  her  memory.  Her  work  must  not 
be  delayed. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  309 


CHAPTEE    XXVI. 

BRIGHT  and  cheerful  hours  passed  in  Jeanie's  new 
home,  where  novelty  and  her  mother's  society 
afforded  daily  food  for  entertainment.  But  a  rainy  day 
came,  and  a  rainier  night.  Mrs.  Miller  resolved  to  pass  it  in 
the  sole  society  of  her  child  whom  she  would  more  com 
pletely  win.  But  in  vain  were  all  arts  to  draw  Jeanie  from 
her  reverie. 

"Papa  is  very  lonely  and  sad,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  The  moods  of  your  father,  Jeanie,  must  no  longer 
concern  .you — we  are  separated  from  him  now." 

"  Did  you  never  love  him  ?" 

Flushing  scarlet,  then  growing  pale,  Mrs.  Miller  said  : 

"  Never  repeat  the  question." 

"  Dearest  mother,"  Jeanie's  head  fell  on  the  lap  of  her  to 
whom  she  spoke.  "  Papa  is  very  miserable  ;  he  looks  pale 
and  haggard.  I  cannot  but  feel  that  the  sweet  affection  you 
bestow  upon  me,  would  be  as  precious  to  him.  He  thinks 
that  you  do  not  care  for  him,  and  would  rather  stay  in  New 
Orleans  and  be  gay,  than  to  make  him  happy.  But," 
Jeanie's  face  kindled,  "  I  know  it  is  not  so.  I  know  that 
for  one  you  loved,  you  could  make  any  sacrifice.  I  know, 
too,  that  one  was  never  made  so  sweet  and  beautiful  to  cause 
wretchedness.  You  do  not  speak  ;  did  you  ever  think  that 
I  was,  perhaps,  sent  you  by  Heaven,  to  bring  you  to  dear 
papa  ?  Look  upon  him  once,  as  you  do  sometimes  upon  me, 
and  he  will  not  believe  you  hate  him." 


310  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Jeanie — I  will  not  deceive  you — I  never  cared  for  your 
father.  Yet,  but  for  his  treatment  of  me,  I  might  have 
been  other  than  I  am.  Ask  him  if  he  remembers  the  night 
we  parted.  But  that  is  over  now.  Since  then,  I  have 
worshipped  genius.  Yes,  I  could  have  loved  one  kindred  to 
my  nature  ;  but  I  sold  myself  for  gold.  He  asked  for  the 
affection  he  bestowed,  I  had  it  not  for  him.  He  wished  me 
to  live  a  Darby  and  Joan  life,  I  revolted.  He  is  right  ;  he 
could  not  forgive  contempt,  though  he  might  injuries.  Do 
you  know  Mr.  Hamlin?" 

The  smile  that  lighted  Jeanie's  face,  the  tears  that  dropped 
on  her  mother's  hand,  showed  how  much  feeling  the  question 
awakened. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is  so  like  one's  dreams  of  excellence.  I 
know  he  wishes  you  would  again  live  with  papa." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it.  It  is  a  ruse  to  deceive  your  father. 
He  knows  me  better,  and  that  I  shall  yet  be  relieved  from 
my  fetters." 

"  Dear  mamma,  he  is  a  Christian.  Ought  not  he  to  think 
the  marriage  rite  should  be  held  sacred  ?" 

"  Did  he  ever  speak  of  me  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  With  what  expression  ?  in  what  manner  ?" 

"  Sadly — once  he  grieved  me  by  the  look  and  tone  with 
which  he  said,  '  You  are  like  your  mother  dancing.' " 

"  Yes.  I  can  see  him,  and  hear  his  severe  sarcastic  tones. 
I  almost  hate  him." 

"Do  not  say  so." 

"  How  strange  that  at  times  he  should  so  much  remind 
.  me  of  my  old  friend,  Hugh,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  in  half 
soliloquy.  "  Yet  as  unlike  as  an  iceberg  and  volcano.  He 
must  use  some  philtre  to  gain  his  influence.  To  defeat  him 
one  must  oppose  sorcery  to  sorcery.  I  talk  strangely  to 
you,  child,  but  this  man  is  of  no  common  mould.  How 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  311 

cold  is  his  metallic  nature  ;  like  polished  steel  he  glitters, 
and  pierces  with  his  dagger  thrusts.  Bah!  he  would 
re-marry  me  to  your  father!  Would  he  enact  the  priest?" 

"  I  do  not  find  you  in  poverty,  as  Grandma  Castleman 
said.  Is  she  much  in  need  ?" 

"  Did  she  make  you  believe  this  ?  Jeanie,  your  father  is 
no  niggard.  He  was  ever  generous  with  his  purse,  and  has 
been  liberal  to  her." 

"  Oh,  such  a  load  is  off  my  mind — it  is  sweet  to  hear 
you  speak  so  of  him.  He  grieved  me  in  his  treatment  of 
her." 

"  He  has  no  reason  to  love  her,  more  than  he  has  your 
mother.  I  would  do  my  worst  enemy  justice.  Your  father 
has  a  noble  heart  ;  but  I  could  not  feign  for  him  regard  I 
did  not  feel,  nor  disguise  my  contempt  for  his  birth  and  low 
connections." 

"  Think  rather  of  his  character,  mamma,  of  his  integrity. 
Does  he  not,  at  least,  merit  kindness  from  you  ?" 

"  Hush!  hush!  Jeanie,  this  is  a  forbidden  topic  ;  to-mor 
row  you  must  devote  to  your  apparel  ;  and  when  arrayed, 
I  will  exhibit  you  to  my  friends.  You  will  appear  at  my 
reunions.  I  long  to  see  you  dance  again.  We  shall  go 
often  to  the  opera,  that  you  may  be  amused  till  you  become 
accustomed  to  the  change  in  your  life.  This  young  gentle 
man,  Mr.  Larkfield,  is  a  half  brother  of  Mr.  Hamlin.  Is  he 
like  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Why  does  my  little  daughter  blush  ?  Has"  he  made 
himself  so  agreeable,  that  his  name  causes  emotion  ?  Well, 
I  shall  not  be  jealous.  We  must  send  for  him  to  dine  with 
us,  when  you  are  more  presentable  ;  do  you  not  love  me  ?" 

"  You  do  not  know  how  much  1" 

"Never,  then,  speak  to  me  of  your  papa.  Don't  shed 
tears  so  easily;  you  must  learn  self-control.  Kiss  me,  love. 


312  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

To-morrow  we  will  amuse  ourselves,  and  talk  less.  I 
have  a  dancing  party  purposely  for  you.  I  shall  order  aL. 
exquisite  ball  dress  for  the  occasion.  How  I  long  to  bring 
you  out." 

"  You  wish  to  make  me  happy,  but  it  will  take  a  little 
while  for  us  to  understand  each  other,"  said  Jeanie.  "  I  dc 
like  to  dance,  and  find  the  amusement  so  pleasurable,  that  I 
fear  a  frequent  indulgence  of  the  enjoyment  would  dissipate 
my  mind,  and  make  conversation  and  thought  distasteful. 
No,  dear  mamma,  I  would  not  now  worship  the  goddess  of 
the  dance,  as  I  did  as  a  child." 

"  Why,  pray  what  would  you  do  in  a  party  ?  At  your 
age,  you  do  not  play ;  music,  hired  performers  can  furnish, 
and  a  soiree  is  no  place  for  a  debating  club." 

"  Constant  excitement  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  essential 
to  enjoyment.  When  I  go  into  society  I  do  not  mean  to  be 
always  seen  like  a  puppet  upon  the  floor.  The  love  of  harmony 
and  music  delights  me,  but  in  my  soberer  moments,  I  think 
it  is  wrong  to  spend  hours  enjoying  such  a  senseless  whirl; 
and  weak,  to  be  so  enthusiastic  as  some  in  the  pleasure  they 
manifest  in  the  exercise.  I  do  not  say  that  I  will  never 
dance  ;  but  I  would  not  like  to  join  any  Terpsichorean  clique 
for  a  winter's  diversion." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  such  nonsense,  child  ?  But  it 
matters  little;  you  can  disguise  your  ultra  notions  and  seem 
pleased,  until  you  discard  them." 

"  Would  not  this  be  duplicity,  if  I  were  to  endeavor  to 
conceal  my"  sentiments  ?  I  should  be  acting,  if  I  did  not 
speak,  a  lie.  It  would  be  beautiful,"  Jeanie  spoke  with 
childish  fervor,  as  if  sure  of  sympathy,  "  to  be  able  to  keep 
one's  mind  free  from  even  the  dust  of  falsehood,  so  that  we 
could  be  read,  and  read  ourselves,  as  plainly  as  we  see  our 
faces' in  a  glass.  I  have  known  people  try  to  quibble  and 
cover  up  what  they  really  believed,  when  they  did  it  so 


THKOUGH   THE   WOOD.  313 

badly,  it  made  one  think  of  the  effort  to  get  wholly  under  a 
too  small  bed-blanket — the  more  you  stretched  it  one  way, 
the  shorter  it  grew  the  other.  Then  it  must  be  so  inconve 
nient  to  prevaricate,"  continued  Jeanie,  laughing,  "  as  much 
trouble  as  to  make  '  patch/  which  the  more  you  eke  and 
block,  the  larger  it  grows,  and  the  bigger  the  holes  to  fill 
up  ;  and  after  all,  what  is  it  but  a  piece  of  colored  ginger 
bread  work,  not  half  so  pretty  and  pure  as  the  white 
original." 

"  A  nice  moral  essay  ;  but  if  there  are  people  I  abhor,  it 
is  your  plain  speakers ;  a  highly  bred  person  will  never  thrust 
his  principles  into  your  face,  but  like  the  skillful  mechanic 
dovetail  his  notions  with  yours,  so  that  when  parting  no 
feeling  but  one  of  harmony  exists." 

"  And  so  nicely,  dear  mamma,  that  you  cannot  tell  which 
your  own  are.  It  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  rude  to  declare 
one's  sentiments  because  they  offend  the  world  :  I  should  as 
soon  think  one  ought  to  quarrel  with  the  light  of  the  sun 
because  it  gives  pain  to  weak  eyes.  If  the  soul  is  really  illu 
mined  by  a  pure  conscience,  it  can't  help  shining — can  it, 
mamma  ?" 

"  Your  casuistry  is  too  contracted  for  me,  and  I  fear  it  will 
require  some  time  to  eradicate  your  bigoted  notions  ;  but  they 
will  not  last  long  in  association  with  liberal  minded  people." 

"  I  do  not  fear,  while  with  you,  that  I  shall  become  lax  in 
my  notions  of  right  and  wrong.  I  know  I  fall  miserably 
short  of  my  purpose,  but  I  do  aim,  and  pray  for  some  abid 
ing  principles,  and  that  I  may  act  upon  them." 

"  Really,  you  make  me  laugh — the  odor  of  your  sanctity, 
my  sweet,  is  overpowering  ;  in  what  school  of  ethics  did 
you  graduate  ?  I  am  afraid  with  such  judging,  I  shall  be 
found  wanting." 

Not  awaiting  Jeanie's  reply,  Mrs.  Miller  skillfully  changed 
the  subject,  and  according  to  her  own  theory,  oiled  her  argu- 

14 


314  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

ments,  while  she  combated  the  opinions  of  her  child.  Every 
jest  was  a  jeu  d'esprit — and  every  graceful  simile  used  to 
make  fairy-like  the  pictures  she  drew,  but  a  coruscation 
from  her  bright  but  perverted  mind.  Like  the  sparkling 
surge  of  crested  waves,  her  thoughts  beautifully  capped  each 
other,  but  unconsciously  with  instinctive  discernment  her 
youthful  listener  perceived  the  vacuity  of  the  brilliant  foam. 
She  felt  that  she  might  revel  hi  the  element  that  overflowed 
her  heart  with  the  gushings  of  a  mother's  love,  and  bathe 
her  soul  in  the  sweet  waters,  but  that  henceforth  a  seal  was 
upon  her  lips.  Her  brain  pictures  wore  no  rose  tints,  as  she 
withdrew  from  the  beguiling  presence — over  them  a  fog  had 
arisen  ;  yet  out  of  the  windows  of  her  soul  she  looked,  pray 
ing  that  the  mist  would  roll  away. 

Was  she  "  prematurely  old" — and  had  her  heart  experi 
ence  taught  her  to  think  too  deeply — was  it  more  natural 
and  winning  to  sip  the  silver  dew,  and  kiss  from  the  rose  leaf 
its  perfume,  instead  of  making  a  science  and  a  study  of 
nature  ;  and  more  lovely  for  one  so  young  to  bask  in 
eternal  sunshine,  with  no  thought  of  a  future,  instead  of 
seeking  "  bugbear  doctrines  and  creeds,"  which  would  make 
her  ascetic  and  gloomy  as  a  "grim  bigoted  theologian?" 
So  said  the  sweet  advocate,  to  whose  voice  it  was  music  to 
listen.  Must  she  also  garble  her  language,  to  make  it 
plausible  and  attractive,  and  lie  sleeping  on  beds  of  roses, 
among  the  beautiful  shadows  of  dream-land,  driving  far 
away  the  stern  realities  her  conscience  taught  her  she  was 
bound  by  the  decrees  of  a  Higher  statute  to  seek  and  turn 
to  her  soul's  good  ? 

Darkness  obscured  the  bright  light  which  had  illumined 
her  coming.  She  had  no  philosophy  to  prevail  against  the 
rising  throbs  which  choked  her,  as  her  spirit  murmured,  "  We 
are  still  apart."  Her  mother  noted  the  soft  eclipse,  but  not 
the  hue  or  depth  of  the  shadow. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  315 


CHAPTEE     XXVII. 

WHEN  Ralph  Larkfield  last  saw  Jeanie,  he  had  parted 
from  her  after  a  wearisome  journey,  when  her 
personal  attractions  had  deteriorated  from  the  trials  and 
sufferings  consequent  upon  the  incidents  of  her  travels.  He 
met  her  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  at  her  mother's  home  ; 
among  whom  as  usual,  the  hostess  shone  preeminent. 

Amidst  the  fashionable  crowd,  he  looked  eagerly  for 
Jeanie.  Wandering  over  the  grounds,  his  eye  was  now 
attracted  to  a  young  girl  dressed  in  white,  and  although 
changed  by  the  recovery  of  her  health,  and  her  tasteful 
apparel,  he  recognized  his  charmer  of  the  forest.  Upon  her 
head,  around  which  her  hair  was  dressed  classically,  layra 
garland  of  leaves,  arranged  with  seeming  carelessness,  but 
with  studied  effect. 

"  Dress  her  like  a  child,  yet  artistically  as  a  queen,"  said 
the  ambitious  mother,  who,  unlike  many  so  much  admired, 
was  not  jealous  of  the  softer,  more  touching  beauty  of  a 
younger  face,  and  that  her  daughter's.  Her  dress  was  worn 
with  a  sash  floating  at  the  waist,  the  band  upon  her 
shoulders  clasped  with  strings  of  pearls.  She  was  sur 
rounded  by  gentlemen  who  eagerly  sought  to  see  the 
daughter  of  one  so  attractive,  but  many  turned  from  her 
disappointed. 

As  well  might  they  have  expected  a  gemmule  from  her 
lily  wreath,  or  a  pearl  from  her  bosom's  ornament  to  have 
dazzled  and  sparkled,  as  that  she  should  have  been  noted 


316  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

for  brilliancy  in  that  festal  crowd.  The  simple  Jeaiiie 
emitted  no  lustrous  rays,  and  to  some  seemed  in  her  cold 
repose,  as  she  stood  in  the  quivering  shade,  unmoved  as  a 
sculptured  ornament. 

Luxuriating  in  a  mother's  love,  her  heart  deceived  with 
the  affectionate  words  which  baffled  not  her  sanguine  hopes, 
she  grew  each  hour  more  tranquilly  lovely. 

Mrs.  Miller  had  resolved  to  wholly  win  her  child  from  her 
husband,  and  with  policy  indulged  Jeanie's  conscientious 
scruples,  intending  that  she  should  not  be  shocked  by 
change  of  customs  or  manners  from  her  northern  home, 
until  she  gradually  became  reconciled  to  the  more  licensed 
freedom  of  New  Orleans  life.  She  therefore  accompanied 
her  to  church,  and  for  a  while  relinquished  her  usual 
Sunday  dinner  party,  and  refrained  from  her  entertainment, 
the  opera,  on  that  sacred  night.  She  finally  spoke  kindly 
of  her  father,  and  when  she  saw  how  deeply  Jeanie  was 
touched  by  the  remembrance,  she  considered  her  false  words 
a  cheap  bestowal  for  the  prize  she  coveted. 

In  the  meantime  the  credulous  girl  fed  on  the  hallucina 
tion  that  she  had  softened  the  prejudices  of  her  mother. 
The  introduction  of  her  daughter  to  her  circle  of  friends, 
was  a  moment  of  triumph  to  Mrs.  Miller,  and  she  determined 
not  to  suffer  mortification  in  the  defeat  of  her  project, 
and  to  finally  carry  her  abroad  where  she,  in  future,  intended 
to  make  her  home. 

She  attempted  no  longer  to  combat  the  prejudices  of 
Jeanie,  as  she  called  them,  against  her  billiard  room  and 
card  saloons,  where  gaming  was  carried  on  by  both  sexes, 
and  for  a  while  stoically  refused  to  participate  in  the  amuse 
ment  of  betting,  of  which  she  was  extravagantly  fond.  To 
night  at  her  brilliant  ball,  she  had  resolved  by  stratagem  to 
make  her  retiring  daughter  conspicuous  ;  and  not  until  she 
had  been  fairly  noted,  would  she  allow  her  to  leave  her  side, 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  311 

where  like  a  morning  bud,  she  nestled  under  the  shadow  of 
the  perfect  rose. 

But  her  solicitude  vanished,  when  she  witnessed  the 
admiration  she  created,  though  the  charm  she  brought  with 
her  presence  was  not  electric,  like  that  which  had  animated 
every  tongue,  and  enchained  every  eye,  when  she  had  made 
her  debut  on  the  world's  stage. 

But  a  softer,  sweeter  power  was  Jeanie's,  if  not  exercised 
by  the  spell  of  wondrous  beauty.  Yet  unsophisticated,  she 
sickened  with  the  adulation  of  strangers,  and  welcomed 
Ealph  with  such  animation  as  she  had  not  before  exhibited. 
Tired  of  the  gay  rooms,  she  was  readily  persuaded  to  seek 
the  piazza  and  grounds,  in  view  of  the  same  mystical  stars, 
where  the  young  lover  had  first  been  captivated. 

Freedom  from  restraint  restored  her  vivacity,  and  the 
gushing,  glad  toned  laugh,  which  Ralph  ever  loved  to 
awaken.  The  bright  sally  and  gay  repartee,  the  thrilling 
presence,  absorbing  to  each — the  happiness  unutterable  and 
unspoken,  enchaining  them  oft  in  silence,  was  born  of  that 
blissful  re-union. 

The  conversation  became  finally  lower  and  more  serious. 
Many  were  the  labyrinths  where  they  wandered.  In  the 
garden  of  roses  Ralph  laid  sweet  blossoms  in  the  hair  of 
his  idol,  and  under  the  vines  lingered  with  her,  sometimes 
whispering  words  causing  her  to  thrill  and  tremble,  then 
lost  in  reverie,  he  would  fancy  his  love  returned,  and  that 
in  her  eyes  he  read  acceptance  of  his  suit. 

Ralph's  smile  which  acted  like  a  charm  upon  every  one, 
was  to-night  bewildering  in  its  power  to  Jeanie.  It  seemed 
not  as  usual  to  flash  like  sudden  light  upon  blue  waters,  but 
as  if  the  gladness  within  imparted  to  it  irresistible  sweet 
ness.  She  read  passion  and  devotion  in  every  glance  of 
his  eye,  and  love  in  every  intonation  of  hjs  rich  voice.  Yet 
Ralph  Larkfield's  wooing  bore  not  the  character  of  senti- 


318  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

mentality,  for  the  laughing  jest  ever  mingled  with  the  deep 
fervor  of  his  warmest  declarations.  So  gay  was  his  general 
bearing,  that  one  within  hearing  would  have  supposed  his 
conversation  of  the  lightest  import.  In  abandonment  to 
the  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  he  drew  Jeanie  far  from  the 
crowd,  and  caught  with  lover-like  devotion  the  slightest 
whisper  from  her  lips — she  trembling  with  love  and  the 
doubts  of  a  warning  conscience. 

The  party  hitherto  so  dull  to  her  was  now  charming.  The 
vain  parent  was  gratified  when  she  again  met  her  child,  to  see 
her  cheek  brightened,  and  the  warm  flush  of  happiness 
irradiating  her  pensive  face.  Unconscious  of  the  passing 
moments  the  two  roved  in  and  out  of  the  rooms,  promenading 
the  halls,  and  off  the  grounds  until  they  were,  in  spirit,  alone. 

"  You  see  the  ring — it  has  proved  a  talisman.  Is  not  my 
probation  ended  ?" 

"  So  soon,  Ralph  ?" 

"  Have  you  yet  no  faith  ?" 

Jeanie  shrank  timidly  from  the  encircling  arm,  concealed 
behind  the  pillar  near  where  they  sat.  » 

"  One  may  be  bewildered  and  fascinated  (her  eyes  fell, 
and  her  voice  was  almost  inaudible),  and  yet  not  dare  to 
trust  the  heart  to  love." 

"Is  not  the  resistance  too  late  ?  Did  I  not  prophesy  we 
should  meet,  and  will  you  add,  but  to  part  ?  Would  we 
were  again  in  that  crazy  old  wood,  so  full  of  romantic 
adventure  !  Can  it  be  you  are  the  girl  who  cried  because  I 
was  about  to  leave  you,  and  who  would  now  quarrel  with, 
and  have  me  pistolled  for  endeavoring  to  substantiate  my 
claims  ?"  Ralph  curled  his  lip  reproachfully. 

"  How  I  wish  you  could  read  all  I  must  conceal,  for  the 
lack  of  words  to  clothe  my  hopes  and  wishes  for  you." 

"  Is  this  all  ?  What  an  angel  you  would  be  but  for  so 
much  caution." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  319 

"Is  it  not  better  to  know  well  one  to  whom  we  give  the 
heart's  first  faith,  than  to  repent  and — separate  for  want  of 
congeniality  ?" 

"  Jeanie,  purest — sweetest  one,  we  are  congenial.  You 
know  you  can  make  me  all  you  wish." 

"  I  cannot  influence  you." 

"  Do  you  consider  it  such  a  Sisyphus  task  to  attempt  my 
reformation  ?" 

"  It  is  not  one  for  me,  were  I  equal  to  it.  If  you  have  no 
higher  motive  to  be  conscientious  than  my  regard,  it  will 
avail  you  little." 

Pearly  drops  glittered  on  the  brown  lashes  that  drooped. 

"Am  I  such  a  reprobate  ?  then  convert  me,  Jeanie  : 


'  Thou  shalt  kneel  at  Allah's  shrine, 
And  I  at  any  God's  for  thine.'  " 


"  Ralph,  those  words  are  impious." 

"  Jeanie,  I  am  no  hypocrite,  I  have  no  sympathy  with 
your  religious  feelings  ;  and,  if  you  were  mine,  I  would  be 
jealous  of  yours.  I  believe  in  living  a  fast  life,  and  a  merry 
•one.  I  would  have  all  your  devotion — all  your  worship.  I 
could  not  part  with  so  much  as  a  glance."  Ralph's  eyes 
gleamed  with  passion  while  he  held  the  little  hands  he 
rapturously  kissed.  "You  shall  be,  too,  the  sole  object  of 
mine,  and  to  obtain  you  I  will  dare  any  power.  Come 
within."  Jeanie  rose  speechless  with  apprehension.  The 
walk  led  within  denser  shrubbery.  Clasping  her  resisting 
form,  he  murmured  :  "  What  bliss — what  love  do  I  care  for, 
but  thee  !  for  you  I  would  imperil  my  soul,  and  cast  out 
Heaven." 

"  Go — leave  me,"  said  Jeanie  with  agitation.  "  Never 
speak  to  me  again  of  love.  I  have  '  chosen  Him  whom  I 
will  serve,'  and  will  never  wed  one  irreverent  and  profane. 


320  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

You  neither  respect  me,  nor  yourself."  With  haughty  pride 
the  lover  stood  alone. 

"If  such  is  your  estimation  of  me,  I  here  bid  you 
farewell,  and  should  I  go  to  the  Prince  of  all  Evil,  my  ruin 
will  rest  upon  your  head." 

Trembling  with  anger,  Ealph  Larkfield  parted  with 
Jeanie. 

News  soon  came  to  Mrs.  Miller  that  her  daughter  had 
left  the  garden,  and  gone  to  her  chamber  ill. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  321 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

AFTER  the  news  of  Jeanie's  safety  reached  the  good 
people  at  the  farm,  the  change  that  there  occurred 
was  like  the  transition  from  a  night  of  wintry  gloom,  to  a 
gladsome  summer  morning. 

Old  Grandpa  Selden  no  longer  hugged  Jeanie's  little 
lamb  that  bleated  in  his  arms,  while  the  tears  rolled  down 
his  furrowed  cheeks ;  and  grandma  gave  up  sobbing  in  secret 
places,  but  resumed  her  knitting  and  refilled  her  snuff-box — 
at  each  tap  of  its  aromatic  contents,  fervently  as  of  old, 
ejaculating  her  blessings  on  the  "  little  dear.." 

Good  old  folks  !  how  they  laid  their  heads  together,  and 
cried  for  joy,  when  they  heard  of  her  preservation.  Not 
for  one  moment  did  she  seem  forgotten.  The  deacon  never 
rubbed  a  beautiful  red  cheeked  apple,  but  he  laid  it  upon 
the  giant  clock,  thinking  Jeanie  might  come  to  eat  it ;  and 
gave  up  cracking  hickory  nuts  at  night,  because  she  was 
not  at  home  to  help  pick  them  ;  but  instead  talked  (to 
himself  if  there  was  no  one  by)  of  the  summer  days  when 
she  would  come  back.  He  planted  seeds  in  the  little  pots 
of  dirt,  where  she  grew  tiny  rose  trees  and  mignonette  ; 
and  put  sticks  around  the  little  bird's  myrtled  grave. 
Grandma  occupied  herself  nursing  straggling  geranium 
shoots  and  stone-crop  roots,  making  Jane  leave  her  most 
engrossing  employment,  to  choose  the  prettiest  spot  for  her 
morning-glories,  though  there  was  no  prospect  for  months 
of  the  vanishing  of  the  snow. 

14* 


322  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  latter  was  deeply  afflicted  with  the  news  of  Mr 
Miller's  critical  state  of  health,  and  much  distressed  at 
Jeanie's  absence  from  him. 

Keturah  had  never  wholly  given  up  Jeanie — her  spirit  of 
hopefulness  encouraged  her,  amidst  the  sorrowful  wailings 
of  the  family,  though  she  was  sometimes  seen  to  go  off  by 
herself,  and  with  a  kitten  of  Jeanie's,  put  her  head  in  her 
lap  and  cry.  But  if  observed,  she  would  complain  that  she 
had  "  eaten  too  much,"  and  that  it  was  "  enough  to  kill  a 
pig  to  live  in  such  a  doleful  house." 

Zebedee  was  too  selfish  to  think  much  of  any  case  in 
which  he  was  not  the  sufferer,  and  was  heard  to  insinuate, 
that  "  drowning  was  nothing  like  one  of  his  poor  turns."  But 
if  he  was  jealous  when  he  believed  her  lost,  he  was  more  so 
when  the  rumor  came  that  she  was  living.  The  joy  evinced 
was  distracting  to  him  :  it  was  too  cold  to  go  out  of  doors, 
and  he  complained  that  the  hullaballoo  the  old  folks  made 
deafened  him — that  he  groaned  with  the  tooth-ache  and 
nobody  cared — that  he  talked  of  his  pains  from  crown  to 
toe,  and  nobody  listened — he  asked  Jane  for  drugs,  and  she 
gave  him  molasses,  Keturah  for  toast  and  she  spread  him  a 
plaster — that  he  shivered  and  quaked  with  vain  efforts  for 
sympathy. 

But  he  soon  had  consolation.  Mr.  Miller  was  danger 
ously  ill.  Somebody  was  afflicted,  and  some  one  that  Jane 
liked,  nearer  his  end  than  himself. 

As  for  himself,  he  was  treated  so  "  unhandsomely,"  he 
resolved  to  be  independent  of  favors  and  live  on  the  avails  of 
future  prospects.  In  the  opinion  of  Keturah  he  was  "beside 
himself,"  and  who  had  a  better  right  to  the  position,  no 
one  else  allowing  him  the  same  propinquity  ? 

Jane  went  to  New  York  to  see  the  invalid,  when  soon 
after,  Zebedee's  business  fever  rose  to  an  alarming  crisis. 
He  packed,  and  unpacked  his  trunk — he  wrote  her  piles  of 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  323 

letters,  which  he  never  mailed,  and  went  as  far  as  the 
depot  to  follow  her  daily.  Concluding  that  he  was  an 
abased  and  trampled  individual,  he  determined  to  take  care 
of  his  own  infirmities,  and  in  the  chimney  corner,  seek  the 
society  of  Keturah,  who  had  treated  him  with  more  defer 
ence  since  Jane  left.  Keturah  was  too  fond  of  company 
not  to  prefer  Mr.  Flint  to  the  cat,  and  felt  secretly  nattered 
that  since  the  absence  of  his  favorite,  the  bachelor  had  looked 
at  her  wonderingly,  as  she  flew  from  one  piece  of  work  to 
another,  and  that  he  had  once  called  her  "  smart  as 
mustard."  The  love  of  praise  was  Keturah's  weakness  ; 
when  she  lacked  it  from  others,  she  bestowed  it  upon 
herself,  and  for  some  unknown  reason,  did  not  as  formerly, 
hustle  Zebedee  out  of  the  ashes.  She  became  more  patient 
with  him  in  all  save  his  complaints  ;  those  she  closed  with 
a  quick  shutting  of  her  mouth,  like  the  click  of  a  steel- 
clasp.  She  began  to  treat  him  much  as  she  might  a  stray 
dog,  that  had  won  her  good  graces,  and  on  whom  she 
suddenly  spared  the  broomstick,  tenderly  acknowledging 
that  there  might  be  "  worse  cattle  than  Mr.  Flint."  She 
felt  proud  of  his  addresses,  as  a  man  of  family — she  knew 
that  he  was  "  spleeny  and  tarnal  humbly,"  but  still  a 
"  ketch." 

She  now  put  sugar  in  the  warming  pan,  with  which  she 
smoked  his  bed,  and  though  privately  insinuating  that  he 
was  as  "  cross  as  an  armful  of  cats,"  she  threw  away  a  new 
pair  of  shoes,  that  she  had  bought  for  their  squeak,  on 
account  of  his  nerves. 

Grandma  thought  Keturah  was  "  getting  religion,"  such 
a  change  came  over  her,  but  was  sorry  to  find  that  in  the 
conversation  she  heard  between  her  and  the  "orphan,"  that 
it  bore  on  lottery  tickets.  He  must  go  to  New  York,  but 
his  trunk  must  be  packed  which  Jane  arranged  so  nicely 
when  he  went  to  Mad  Eiver.  Keturah  advised  him  to  have 


324  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

his  coat-tails  made  less  "  flipperty  flapperty,"  thus  inter 
posing  another  obstacle  to  the  movement  in  the  mind  of 
the  man  of  deliberate  habits. 

Zebedee  was  a  number  of  weeks  in  preparation — with 
his  doors  closed,  rummaging  closets  and  crannies,  saying 
nothing  to  any  one  excepting  to  Keturah.  Grandma  was  a 
good  deal  disturbed  with  the  "  sly  goings  on,"  to  all  of 
which  Zebedee  only  chuckled,  talking  to  Keturah,  while  she 
made  cheese  or  skimmed  milk  in  the  pantries.  Miss  Spruut 
now  rarely  sung  the  Siege  of  Bellisle. 

It  was  a  tableau  to  see  the  bachelor  astride  of  a  high 
stool,  his  feet  hanging  with  a  neglected  looseness,  on  which 
he  wore  shoes,  revealing  between  them  and  the  hem  of  his 
broad-cloth,  a  "  break  of  blue."  His  eyes,  which  were  large 
and  protruding,  had  now  an  expectant  look.  Keturah  was 
busy  in  the  cheese  room,  where  she  handled  and  tossed  the 
commodity,  as  if  each  was  a  small  slapjack  (and  there  were 
twenty  of  them),  while  at  each  "whop  over"  and  each 
"  smack  down"  of  the  golden  moons,  she  give  them  a  clap 
with  a  hand,  which  lacked  neither  size  nor  strength.  Her 
foot  kept  time  on  the  painted  floor,  with  well  directed  and 
uniform  stamps,  telling  not  only  of  the  energy  of  each 
motion,  but  that  she  was  well  shod.  Her  cheeks  were 
glowing  rosy  red  with  the  exercise  that  had  kept  her 
employed  since  four  in  the  morning — her  whole  buxom 
frame  glowing,  panting,  expanding,  with  each  muscular 
movement  ;  the  tout  ensemble  suggesting  the  idea  of  a  brisk 
young  mare  on  the  full  trot. 

Laziness  and  industry  were  contrasted  in  the  two,  as  if 
one  was  waiting  for  "  the  world  to  come,"  to  see  the  turn  of 
fortune's  wheel ;  the  other,  as  if  each  day  of  labor  brought  her 
mines  of  wealth,  instead  of  a  good  appetite,  and  three  meals 
a  day. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Flint,  when  do  you  start  ?"  said  she. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  325 

"  How  can  I  without  Jane  ?" 

"  Jane  !  Jane  !  as  if  nobody  could  sugar  your  mess,  or 
bile  your  pot,  but  Jane.  Do  you  think  the  puddin's  goin 
to  stir  itself,  or  this  cheese  is  goin'  to  dry,  without  I  whop  it  ? 
You  oughter  have  a  woman  what  can  put  vitals  inter 
you."  Keturah  turned  another  cheese,  giving  another 
stamp. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  my  weaknesses." 

"  Lummikins  !  I  wish  there  wasn't  such  a  thing  as  a 
back  stick,  and  its  my  opinion,  if  you'd  limber  yourn,  it 
would  disappear." 

"  How  you  do  twist  about,  Keturah." 

"  Why  don't  you  show  folks  you  ain't  such  a  good  for 
nothing,  as  they  take  you  for  ?" 

"  What's  the  use  of  being  in  a  hurry  !  It  tires  me  to  see 
you  work  so — do  set  down  and  be  clever.  I  may  have  the 
tin  some  day — then  I  shan't  live  in  such  a  mean  way." 

"  How  much  do  you  expect  to  draw  ?"  Keturah  leaned 
over  a  cheese,  on  which  her  elbows  rested,  her  round  chin 
supported  on  a  secure  foundation. 

"  It's  uncertain." 

"  Well,  if  you  duz  slip  up,  what's  your  next  cue  !  or  do 
you  mean  to  stick  to  the  kind  o'  bisness  you're  in  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  I  I  suppose  I  shall  be  provided  for.  You 
know,  Keturah,  I  can't  get  married  on  the  little  end  of 
nothing.  I  mean  to  consult  Jane." 

"  Jane  agin  !  what  a  couple  you'd  make.  Why  you'd, 
both  on  you,  go  to  sleep  over  your  victuals.  Just  hear  me, 
Mr.  Zebedee  Flint."  Keturah  stood  up,  with  her  hands  on  her 
broad  hips.  "  I  would  get  some  grit  inter  the  family,  some 
way,  if  I  married  a  woman  that  would  knead  me  black  and 
blue." 

"  Keturah,  you  are  so  aggravating.  My  business  ain't  a 
suffering.  I'd  go  South  if  it  wasn't  for  bilers,  and  boats  fill- 


32G  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

iug  with.' snags,  besides  niggers  them  countries  is  infested 
with.  I  wish  I  could  be  in  a  relaxing  climate."  . 

"  Blazes — you'd  be  flattened  into  a  dish  rag." 

"Ain't  you  going  to  make  bread"?  My  feet  are  cold. 
Come  down  into  the  kitchen  and  I'll  tell  you  my  prospects. 
I  can't  be  frittering  away  my  time  so." 

"  Well,  your  nose  is  blue  now.  I  guess  you'd  better  be 
off,  getting  that  money." 

"  I  do  hate  to  risk  myself  on  a  railroad." 

"  Get  along  ahead,"  going  down  the  stairway,  "  or  I'll 
pitch  you,  if  you  meddle  with  my  apron  strings  there 
behind.  Marry  Miss  Jane!  what  a  feeble  existence  you'd 
live  together." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  be  happy  with  a  woman  any  way, 
they  are  so  interfering." 

"You  happy!  you  blue-legged  infidel.  What  do  you 
suppose  a  woman  is  going  to  marry  you  for  ?  just  as  if  she'd 
change  her  condition  for  insignificance.  Don't  you  s'pose 
she  wants  something  to  lean  on,  that's  a  staff  in  protection 
— something  to  feed  on  in  disaster  and  loneliness- — a  man 
what  is  a  man,  not  a  failin'  sheep  ?  But  I'm  sure  it's  none 
of  my  concern  what  you  marry." 

"  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  could  put  up  with  a  woman, 
and  then  again,  as  if  I  couldn't.  I  lay  awake  nights  think 
ing  what  a  miserable  object  I  be,  and  then  I  think  I'll  offer 
myself  right  off;  but  I  ought  to  marry  a  small  woman. 
How  much  do  you  weigh,  Keturah  ?" 

"  A  leetle  more  in  brains,  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Flint,  than  your 
whole  miserable  body.  Jane  Selden  won't  have  you.  She 
ain't  a  going  to  mix  up  with  such  an  unfortunit." 

Keturah  was  now  up  to  her  elbows  in  dough,  which  she 
was  kneading  fiercely. 

"You.  ain't  so  clever  as  you  was  in  the  cheese  room.  I 
do  like  to  see  you  work.  You've  got  the  smart  in  you. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  327 

You  ain't  so  delicate  as  Jane,  but  you  are  a  great  deal 
tougher." 

"  And  you  are  a  trifle  greener,  if  you  think  to  come  over 
the  Sprunts  with  that  kind  of  juice.  You  think  my  hands 
is  all  flour;  but  if  you  don't  look  out  nudgin,  I'll  make  you 
of  the  same  'gredient.  Will  you  please  to  tell  me  which 
you  are  about  to  spark;  me,  or  the  experienced  Miss 
Jane  ?" 

The  entrance  of  grandma  into  the  kitchen  started  Zebedee 
off  from  the  table,  where  he  had  seated  himself  by  the 
bread-tray,  his  head  and  hands  not  in  the  dough,  but  down 
go  near  it,  where  Keturah's  were  working  red  and  fast,  that 
it  was  dubious  which  accomplished  the  kneading. 

"  Here's  your  stockings,"  looking  first  at  Keturah,  then 
at  the  bachelor. 

"  Well,  I  shall  want  'em  in  the  morning;  I'm  going  in  the 
cars." 

"  You'll  look  up  Jane  ?" 

Zebedee  grew  red.  The  bread  in  the  oven,  Keturah  was 
permitted  to  pack  his  clothes,  which  she  handled,  not  as 
formerly,  but  gently,  as  if  each  article  was  a  jelly-bag.  It 
was  refreshing  to  their  owner  to  see  a  female  holding  in  her 
arms  a  pile  of  his  stockings,  and  to  observe  how  feelingly 
she  knelt  to  his  beloved  garments,  putting  up  powders  and 
salves  as  if  they  were  rose  and  bergamot. 

The  bachelor  melted  at  the  spectacle.  •  "  You  know  it 
won't  be  long,"  said  he,  "  before  I  shall  make  some  woman 
agreeable  to  me.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  encouragement  I've 
given  people,  I  might  make  different  arrangements." 

"  Circumstances  alters  cases,  Mr.  Flint.  Where's  your 
flannels,  red  and  yellow,  and  your  pots  of  mustard  ?  You'll 
look  fine,  callin'  for  them  delicacies — your  shoe-blacking — 
there's  no  use  payin'  for  sich  jobs." 

"I  can  give  'em  a  rub  after  I  get  to  bed — " 


328  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Well,  I  do  hope  you'll  behave  as  if  you  come  from  some 
pint  of  the  civilized  arth,  and  not  show  up  your  verdancy. 
Hand  your  yarn  socks.  I  wish  I  could  go  long,  and  see  to 
you,  but  if  you'd  only  listen  to  anybody  that's  experienced, 
you  wouldn't  go  round  blunderin'  like  a  blind  pig.  Well  to 
begin,  them  heads  in  the  shop  winders  ain't  cut  off  of  folks, 
and  stuffed,  they  are  patterns  for  gettin'  up  improvements 
in  women  ;  but  you'll  be  greener  about  some  other  things — 
when  you  get  located,  don't  go  hollerin'  round  the  entries 
for  somethin'  to  eat,  just  pull  a  string  in  the  wall,  and  a 
native  will  come  up  strait  as  a  bucket  on  a  well-pole  ;  and 
don't  try  to  borrow  any  of  them  carriages  in  the  streets, 
them  belongs  to  niggers  ;  and  of  all  things,  do  as  soon  as 
you  land,  get  some  kind  of  new  fashioned  trowsers — them 
Bets  makes  don't  compare  with  York  tailoring — and  keep 
your  legs  out  of  sight  all  you  can,  they  are  so  mean — I 
wish  you  could,  shut  up  your  mouth  a  leetle  grain  at  the 
corners,  but  I  suppose  yon  can't  more  than  I  can  this  old 
foxy  trunk's — it's  so  full  it  will  bust,  as  sure  as  it's  nail 
hobbed.  I'll  haul  it  to,  while  you  stand  on't,  Mr.  Flint." 

"  It  sometimes  'pears,  Keturah,  as  if  you  hadn't  any  kind 
of  feelin'.  You  hoist,  and  it  will  come  smack." 

"  I  tell  you,  man  alive,  the  feller  what  sparks  me  has  got 
to  be  up  and  doin'.  Hurry  along,  and  don't  get  under  my 
feet.  There's  no  use  in  percrasternatin' — you'll  start  in 
season." 

"  You  know  Keturah,  we  can't  tell  what  a  day  will  bring 
forth " 

"  Well  I  ruther  think  it  will  bring  you  and  your  despiker- 
ble  spine  out  o'  bed  when  the  car  whistles." 

"  Hadn't  I  better  sleep  as  I  be,  so  I  needn't  get  out 
o'  breath  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  if  you  turn  in,  in  your  tailored  shoes,  so  you 
don't  disgrace  the  family  by  being  shiftless." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  329 

"  So  Zeb,  you're  goin'  in  arnest  ?"  said  grandpa,  putting 
his  head  into  the  door. 

"  Well,  it  don't  signify,"  interposed  grandma  outside,  "  the 
world  is  full  of  changes." 

"  I  spose  so — Keturah  is  in  for  it,"  groaned  Zebedee. 

"  You  know  I  never  dallies  ;  what  I  duz,  I  duz,  and  now 
I've  undertook  with  Mr.  Flint,  I'll  put  him  through." 

The  bachelor  concluded  he  would  retire  early,  a  resolu 
tion  causing  him  to  remain  in  the  easy  position  he  assumed 
after  Keturah  left  him  to  get  tea — his  face  momentarily 
lengthening  until  the  latitude  of  his  mouth  was  hardly 
observable  in  the  longitude  of  his  countenance.  The  old  folks 
were  much  excited  by  his  decision,  and  by  his  secret  business. 

As  the  sun  in  his  chariot  of  gold,  appeared  in  sight  over 
the  grand  old  hills  of  Berkshire — a  dipped  tallow  candle 
was  seen  emitting  a  smoky  feeble  light,  coming  down 
Deacon  Selden's  back  stair-way.  Its  bearer's  energetic  step 
was  unmistakable,  as  it  clattered  through  the  cold  entries 
and  passages  to  Mr.  Flint's  room,  followed  by  loud  knuckle- 
raps,  every  one  producing  terror  and  anguish  to  the  roused 
individual  within. 

"  D'ye  hear  ?     Get  up  I  say " 

"  Stop  your  thunderin',  do,  Keturah,  I've  just  tho't 
neighbor  Sanborn  is  goin'  to  kill  to  day " 

"  The  critters  can  wait  I  guess,  if  they  can't  I'll  stick 
'em — come  along  out,  now,  I  say." 

"  I  can't  find  my  shoes — I  do  hate  to  part  with  the  old 
folks." 

"  Yes,  the  cow  loves  the  hay-stack — get  along  up,  I  say, 
and  go  long  to  York,  and  get  your  dues." 

In  the  space  of  half  an  hour  Zebedee  issued  forth  in  a 
new  overcoat,  which  Betsey  had  just  sent  home,  unfortu 
nately  tight  and  short.  He  was,  however,  in  it — the  com 
pression,  and  the  view  of  his  yellow  haired  trunk  on  a 
wheelbarrow  at  the  door,  producing  unpleasant  sensations. 


330  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

It  was  ten  years  since  he  had  left  the  farm,  excepting  to  go 
to  Mad  River.  He  swallowed  the  lamps  as  they  canie  up 
in  his  throat,  and  coaxed  his  legs  after  him,  which  seemed 
to  have  lost  the  power  of  volition.  How  cold  the  snow 
looked  !  and  how  melancholy  sounded  the  steam  escaping 
in  the  distance. 

He  drank  his  coffee  and  eat  his  breakfast,  occasionally 
looking  at  Keturah  with  brine  in  his  eyes,  to  which  melting 
symptom  she  seemed  insensible. 

"  Just  fifteen  minutes,"  said  she,  looking  up  at  the  mon 
itor. 

A  solemn  sight  it  was  to  the  inexperienced  traveller,  to 
see  the  old  folks  in  their  night  caps,  bidding  him  good-bye 
through  a  crack,  and  very  irritating  to  witness  Mink's  comfor 
table  state  of  repose,  who  had  not  yet  left  his  post. 

"  Your  time  is  up,  come  on — bring  along  your  sticks,  Mr. 
Flint." 

"  Well,  I'm  a  coming — don't  hurry  so  !" 

Puffing, and  blowing,  Zebedee  and  Keturah  reached  the 
cars,  the  wheelbarrow  following. 

"You  get  in,  I'll  buy  your  ticket." 

"  That  fellow  has  run  off  with  my  trunk  !" 

"Here's  your  recommend,  do  n't  -  break  your  neck — buy 
me  a  silk  gown,  and  come  back,  for  the  land's  sake,  in  some 
kind  o'  business,  and  in  anything  but  a  coffin." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  !"  said  Keturah  to  the  wheelbarrow 
propeller,  as  she  caught  a  view  of  Zebedee's  head  protruding 
from  the  cars,  "  Mr.  Flint  only  wants  regenerating 

It  was  a  cold  frosty  morning  for  the  bachelor  to  travel, 
it  made  his  nose  look  bluer,  his  shamble  legs  more  clumsy, 
as  he  scrambled  with  break-neck  haste  into  the  cars,  from 
an  unnecessary  impetus,  considering  he  was  not  a  barrel  of 
potatoes  to  be  rolled  into  a  cellar.  Altogether,  he  had  a 
bewildered  expression,  as  he  bounded  on  and  off  of  sleeping 
people,  with  the  motion  of  the  cars  under  full  headway. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  331 

\ 

Bat  feeling  an  innate  consciousness,  that  he  was  embark 
ing  "  on  a  new  and  successful  tide,"  self  respect  crept  over 
him,  and  but  for  his  tight  coat,  he  would  have  seemed  in 
easy  circumstances. 

Being  invited  in  from  the  window  by  the  conductor,  he 
put  a  japanned  box  under  the  seat,  also  a  new  hat  tied  in 
white  paper,  and  began  to  survey  his  location  ;  and  his 
probable  chances  for  safety  and  companionship.  He  observed 
the  dimensions  of  a  fat  Quaker  lady  beside  him,  and  was 
glad  to  feel  that  in  case  of  accident,  she  would  be  safe  to 
fall  upon.  Meaning  to  look  out  for  pick-pockets,  he  kept 
his  hands  at  first  mostly  behind  him,  on  a  dried  bladder,  in 
which  his  money  was  tied. 

Matters  would  have  gone  smoothly  with  the  traveller,  but 
as  the  morning  advanced,  he  grew  hungry  ;  when  he  exhibited 
the  poor  taste  to  spread  his  lunch  on  the  top  of  his  new 
beaver,  the  odor  of  which  became  offensive  to  the  obese  lady, 
who  was  anxious  lest  her  neat  brown  shawl  should  suffer 
from  cqntact  with  cold  sausage  and  baked  apple.  The  time 
arrived,  when  he  became  in  need  of  water. 

"  Dost  thou  wish  something  to  allay  thy  thirst,  friend," 
said  the  Quakeress,  "  if  so,  thou  can  be  furnished  with  all 
that  will  suit  thy  body's  refreshment,  in  the  next  car,  where 
thou  wilt  be  afforded  more  room  for  thyself  and  pro 
visions." 

"  He  can't  have  any  out  of  that  pump,"  said  a  listener 
behind,  "  that's  all  that  works  the  engine." 

"  Let  him  that  is  athirst  drink,  which  Scriptural  passage, 
applieth  to  the  body,  as  well  as  the  soul,  friend.  Thou  wilt 
become  rumpled  in  thy  attire,  with  a  person  of  my  magni 
tude  in  propinquity  to  thee,"  said  the  lady,  growing  more 
disgusted  with  her  companion. 

"  You'll  be  warmer  where  you  are,  and  won't  be  so  jolted," 
interposed  the  joker. 


332  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Thou  art  officious,  friend  ;  stretching  of  the  limbs,  and 
sufficient  room  for  their  expansion,  is  essential  to  the  tra 
veller." 

"  Pickerel  1"  exclaimed  Zebedee,  "  I  was  just  a  feeling  if 
I  had  any." 

"  If  thou  wilt  wheel  thyself  about,  thou  canst  be  extricated 
without  difficulty." 

An  attempt  was  made,  but  in  the  effort,  a  spark  flew  into 
the  eye  of  the  bachelor. 

"  Get  up  !  Up  I  say  !"  he  now  vociferated,  at  the  same 
time  throwing  back  his  head,  while  he  held  open  the  afflicted 
organ  :  "  it's  a  shuck,  or  a  cob  of  something — get  it  out, 
old  woman  !  get  it  out,  I  say  1" 

"  Canst  thou  not  wait,  friend,  until  I  can  turn,  without 
injury  to  my  apparel  ?" 

"It's  a  stickin'  me  !  It's  awful  !  Let  me  up  !  let  me  out ! 
you  old — old  meal  bag  !" 

"  Friend,  thy  wrath  is  unbecoming,  and  betrays  a  mind 
undisciplined.  If  thou  wilt  contract  thyself  into  smaller 
dimensions,  I  will  endeavor  to  probe  thy  wound,  and  extri 
cate  thee  from  thy  agony." 

Without  waiting  for  a  period  to  these  remarks,  Zebedee 
bestowed  upon  his  companion  homely  anathemas,  with  which 
he  associated  a  variety  of  farming  utensils,  at  the  same  time 
working  himself  upwards — his  face  steaming  with  the  pain 
and  discomfort,  when  a  traveller  performed  the  surgical  aid 
required.  f 

Mr.  Flint  was  now  anxious  for  a  release,  and  with  many 
angular  contortions,  and  with  much  compression  of  the  cor 
pulence  beside  him,  he  obtained  one,  and  landed  outside  of 
the  female  bulwark. 

Much  to  his  satisfaction,  he  was  soon  regaled  with  lemon 
ade  and  confectionery,  of  which  he  bought  plentifully,  also 
many  other  things  on  the  way,  such  as  small  pies,  maple 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  333 

sugar,  shell  baskets,  books,  etc.,  all  of  which  were  precari 
ous  and  bulky  for  transportation  or  storage  in  the  cars. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  much  gratified  with  his  journey, 
especially  with  the  society  on  board,  who  seemed  pleased 
with  him,  and  on  arrival,  oppressed  with  politeness.  So 
many  invitations  as  he  had  to  ride  (cumbersome  as  he  looked 
with  his  hand  luggage),  all  of  which  he  could  not  accept, 
being  disposed  of  nolens  volens,  with  six  others,  including 
the  Quakeress,  in  a  small  coach. 

It  was  a  happy  moment  when  he  reached  the  "  tavern  "  he 
talked  of  ;  and  a  merry  one  for  the  passengers,  when  he 
shook  hands  with  the  friendly  lady  in  parting. 

That  he  was  in  New  York,  Zebedee  felt  the  next  morning 
to  the  distraction  of  his  weak  nerves,  he  having  put  up  at  a 
fashionable  hotel,  from  which  he  issued  early  (after  the  pay 
ment  of  a  huge  bill),  to  find  Jane  Selden.  Strange  to  him, 
no  one  knew  who  she  was,  and  though  he  discovered  a  great 
variety  of  Janes,  to  whom  he  was  directed,  he  suffered  much 
in  the  contemplation  of  their  countenances — disappointment 
aggravated  by  the  loss  of  his  money-skin,  while  drinking  a 
mug  of  beer  with  a  new  acquaintance.  It  was  a  refreshing 
moment  to  the  bachelor,  when,  weary  and  hungry,  he  found 
himself  in  the  presence  of  one  who  had  been  the  El  Dorado 
of  his  hopes,  until  her  memory  had  been  overshadowed  by 
her  enterprising  successor. 

Jane  was  visiting  a  friend,  who  seemed  backward  in  ac 
cepting  his  boisterous  greeting — coldness  unperceived  by  the 
visitor.  How  sweetly  the  patient  Jane  listened  to  the 
threadbare  topic  of  his  anticipated  success  in  business,  of  all 
his  sufferings,  bodily  and  mental,  since  she  left  the  farm,  and 
the  finale,  the  inconsiderate  and  inhuman  behavior  of  Ketu- 
rah.  After  a  conference  with  her  hostess,  she  proposed  to 
him  to  bring  his  trunk,  and  follow  immediately  to  her  place 
of  sojourn. 


334  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

Mr.  Flint  accepted  the  invitation  conditionally — he  must 
have  a.  key  to  the  door  of  his  bed-room,  and  an  assurance 
that  no  one  should  "pry"  into  "  his  affairs." 

He  accordingly  came,  but  to  Jane's  mortification  and  sur 
prise,  she  discovered  the  following  morning  that  he  had 
departed  secretly,  leaving  signs  of  a  lunch.  Jane  endeav 
ored  to  screen  her  farm  friend,  and  might  have  saved  his 
reputation  for  eccentricity  from  exposure,  but  unfortunately 
he  returned  at  night,  in  a  situation  in  which  he  was  never 
before  seen,  wandering  in  his  mind — light-headedness,  mani 
fested  by  throwing  about  loose  change,  and  calling  himself  a 
lottery  ticket. 

On  investigation  of  his  case,  she  discovered  that  he  had 
received  the  avails  of  a  small  prize  in  a  lottery  drawn  in 
Baltimore,  and  that  by  a  system  of  hocus-pocus  had  been 
defrauded  of  his  winnings,  while  liberally  expending  his 
resources  in  an  oyster  saloon,  with  a  circle  to  whom  he  had 
been  presented  at  the  agent's  office. 

Horror-stricken  at  the  course  and  immorality  of  the  luck 
less  bachelor,  it  was  with  little  satisfaction  that  his  faithful 
friend  received  a  full  length  daguerreotype  of  himself. 

When  in  his  right  state  of  mind,  she  severely  expressed 
her  disapproval  of  his  mode  of  acquiring  money,  and  felt 
none  the  less  grieved  when  he  expressed  that  he  was  utterly 
ruined  in  his  prospects,  and  should  become  a  "  miserable 
object,"  unless  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to  "  share"  himself 
with  some  woman,  who  would  give  up  the  world,  for  his 
prospects,  "poverty  and  the  tomb,"  an  introduction  which  pre 
pared  Jane  for  a  low-spirited  proposal  of  marriage,  to  which 
she  returned  a  kind,  but  unconditional  refusal. 

In  despair,  and  out  of  business,  Mr.   Flint  subsequently 
left  for  the  farm,  after  squeezing  into  the  japanned  box,* 
from  which  he  had  taken  crumbs  of  edibles,  a  red  calico,5" 
instead  of  the  silk  gown  he  had  promised  Keturah. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  335 


CHAPTEK    XXVIII. 

JEANIE  had  entered  upon  a  new  life.  Carried  rapidly 
from  one  scene  to  another,  before  aware  of  the  change, 
she  was  in  her  mother's  wake,  and,  like  her  parent,  conspicuous 
as  an  object  of  criticism  and  homage.  While  conscious  that 
her  heart  was  not  absorbed  with  the  vanities  of  a  career  so 
brilliant,  to  please  the  latter,  she  unresistingly  appeared  in 
public,  trusting  that  by  her  acquiescence  she  could  thus  more 
effectually  exercise  the  power  she  would  exert.  But  sud 
denly  the  veil  fell  from  her  eyes,  when  she  discovered  she 
had  been  thus  led,  that  she  might  be  prepared  for  a  more 
extensive  arena  on  a  foreign  soil. 

Meantime,  Ralph  Larkfield,  who  had  sent  to  New  York 
frivolous  excuses  for  his  absence,  lingered  in  New  Orleans, 
where  he  abandoned  himself  as  of  old  to  pleasure,  and 
spending  his  time  chiefly  at  the  gay  abode  of  Mrs.  Miller. 

For  a  while  coolness  existed  between  him  and  Jeanie,  but 
the  lover  did  not  sigh  penitently  in  vain.  She  was  finally 
persuasively  won  to  the  belief  that  his  irreverent  language 
proceeded  from  thoughtlessness  rather  than  lack  of  moral 
principle. 

Mr.  Miller  had  been  so  long  an  invalid,  Jeanie  had  not  ima 
gined  his  case  a  critical  one,  and  receiving  but  brief  accounts 
of  his  state  of  health,  was  cheered  by  the  hope  of  his  recov- 

§.     Her  mother  had  secretly  given  the  impression  that 
was  made  unhappy  by  accounts  of  her  father's  illness, 
which  caused  the   discontinuance  of  intelligence  upon  the 


336  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

matter.  The  sick  man  resolved,  if  spared,  to  meet  her  once 
more,  though  with  little  hope  that  he  should  live  longer  than 
to  reach  New  Orleans. 

With  such  anticipations,  letters  came  to  Jeanie  less  fre 
quently,  until  her  heart  grew  sad  with  anxiety.  She  mar 
velled  at  the  silence  of  Mr.  Hamlin,  who  had  not  written  to 
her  as  she  had  hoped  he  would  do.  Yet  she  was  compelled 
to  remain  silent,  and  to  seem  amused  with  the  efforts  made 
to  entertain  her. 

"  You  do  not  put  your  soul  into  your  voice,  my  love,"  was 
a  complaint  which  Mrs.  Miller  frequently  made.  "  You 
lack  joyousness,  my  Jeanie.  How  different  was  your  prom 
ise  as  a  child  !  Endeavor  to  become  gay — to-morrow  we 
have  dinner  company." 

"  It  is  Sunday,  dear  mamma.  Did  you  know  that  a  letter 
sealed  with  black  came  for  you  this  morning  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  in  my  escritoir.  I  shall  not  open  it  until 
Monday.  Here  is  one  I  received  from  your  grandmother  a 
few  weeks  since.  I  have  not  read  it — you  can  do  so,  if  you 
choose."  Jeanie  perused  the  following  : 

New  York,  lord's  Day  Eve. 

MY  SWEET  ELINOR  : 

From  my  abode  of  penury  I  address  you,  that  you  may 
know  that  I  yet  hover  about  you.  I  continue  in  a  precarious  state, 
but  able  to  dine  and  sup  occasionally  with  our  bounteous  friends,  who 
grant  me  many  small  favors.  It  may  not  occasion  you  surprise  to 
hear  that  the  low-bred  person  whose  name  you  bear,  is  dead ;  he  was 
buried  yesterday,  with  great  funeral  and  military  honors.  I  heard  the 
fife  and  drum  from  where  I  crib,  and  was  inspired  to  tattoo  a  beat 
with  my  feet  on  the  occasion.  Write  me  if  you  shall  go  into  deep 
black,  and  if  I  am  remembered  in  his  will — if  not,  I  presume  you 
will  make  the  sum  good.  The  kettle  your  Uncle  Tom  left  me  was  of 
no  use,  as  toddy  don't  agree  with  me,  as  it  did  with  him.  Life  is  ^k 
uncertain  !  as  your  poor  father  used  to  say  ! 

The  Selden  family  have  given  up  all  hopes  of  catching  Mr.  Miller 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  33T 

for  poor  weasled  up  Jane.  She  has  put  up  with  him  in  New  York, 
ever  since  you  left  him  in  his  disgrace.  The  old  maid  has  hung  up 
her  fiddle,  and  intends  to  marry  their  hired  man,  and  go  to  Erin  with 
him — a  melancholy  end. 

There  have  been  great  robberies  in  the  city,  and  I  have  been 
obliged  to  send  my  valuables — you  know  their  intrinsic  worth — to  the 
garrets  of  my  friends.  I  am  grieved  to  hear  that  your  child  is  incar 
cerated  in  a  convent  in  your  State,  and  there  is  no  hopes  of  her  lib 
eration.  Wouldn't  it  be  well  to  petition  Congress  ?  Arthur,  that 
dreadful  boy,  is  going  to  ruin  fast,  and  has  been  dismissed  by  a  tai- 
loress  whom  he  expected  to  marry.  She  had  heard  of  his  principlea 
and  low  birth.  I  am  faint,  owing  to  eating  nothing  (I  never  sleep) 
for  a  week.  I  seldom  have  any  fire,  and  not  being  in  good  flesh,  I 
feel  the  changes — but  when  my  father  and  mother  forsake  me  the 
Lord  will  take  me  up.  Your  poverty-stricken  parent, 

ANGELINE  C.,  relict  of  P.  C. 

P.  S. — Will  you  be  so  benevolent  as  to  contribute  a  small  sum  to  a 
contribution  about  being  started  by  the  ladies  of  the  church  to  which 
I  belong,  for  my  relief?  The  plate  will  be  handed  around  next  Sun 
day.  It  is  got  up  by  the  eleemosynaries. 

A.  C.,  R.  of  P.  C. 

With  a  face  portraying  her  shocked  feelings,  Jeanie  laid 
aside  the  epistle  of  her  grandmother,  whose  character  she 
now  understood.  As  she  finished,  she  caught  the  smile 
of  her  parent,  who  jestingly  asked  if  she  had  been  enter 
tained. 

"  To  resume,  our  conversation,"  said  the  latter,  "  we  dine 
so  late  that  church  services  will  not  be  interfered  with.  I 
shall  expect  you  to  be  present,  so  remember,  my  jewel,  you 
will  cause  me  pain  by  dampening  the  enjoyment  of  my 
guests,  by  any  long  faces  engraved  for  the  occasion. 
However  I  may  feel,  I  never  betray  myself  in  company. 
Ifeu  must  learn  self-control,  my  daughter." 
"'  This  is  not  the  self-control  Aunt  Jane  taught  me.  The 
Bible  says  :  '  he  that  ruleth  his  spirit  is  stronger  than  lie 

15 


338  THE    TOBCHLIGHT;    OR, 

that  taketh  a  city.'  I  have  made  a  covenant  with  the  Lord, 
that  I  will  '  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day/  would  you  have  Hie 
break  it,  my  dear  mother  ?" 

"  We  will  wait  until  to-morrow,  my  love,  for  your  sermon. 
I  do  not  wish  you  conspicuous,  but  au  fait.  Your  dinner 
dress  has  come,  also  some  pretty  evening  apparel.  With 
suitable  arrangement  of  your  hair,  you  will  be  quite  an 
ornament  to  the  occasion.  Apropos,  my  love,  let  me  see 
how  the  dinner  robe  becomes  you.  Tell  Zaidee  to  put  it  on, 
and  then  return  to  me.  It  is  so  early  in  the  day  we  shall 
have  no  visitors." 

Jeanie  passively  obeyed.  She  found  a  mulatto  woman 
holding  up  for  her  own  observation,  a  party  dress  of  costly 
fabric.  Its  hue,  a  brilliant  rose  color,  delighted  the  servant. 

"  Missey  dis  be  superb — it  jus  done  come.  Lor  how 
magnificant  Missus  be  in  her  'speuces  !  She  be  gwine  to 
make  little  princess  out  o'  Miss  Jinny." 

"  Mamma  wishes  me  to  put  it  on  ;  Zaidee,  will  you  fasten 
it  for  me  ? 

"  Pray,  Miss  Jinny,  for  de  sake  ob  family  spectability, 
don  do  such  vulgarity  bout  helping  yerself.  He  !  he  !  if 
dis  chil  ain't  done  got  her  dess  off,  afore  I  shake  out  de 
tail !  come  to  de  glass,  where  we  see  its  rosy  shine." 

"  Please  be  quick,  Zaidee,  and  don't  stand  admiring  it  too 
long." 

"  You  be  too  much,  I  clar,  for  any  nigger  Miss  Jinny  I 
che  !  che  1  I  rudder  look  at  you  dan  all  de  angel  out  ob 
heben,  wid  dat  celestible  dress  on.  It  s'prise  my  sense,  dat 
you  don  laff  more  sensible  bout  it.  How  de  gemmen  will 
lub  you,  so  like  misses  only  she  wear  her  nianwoon  welwet. 
I  wish  de  dinner  party  come  week  tune  'stead  o'  Sabber  da. 
I  hab  so  much  to  occuper  my  scarce  momens  wid  dessing  h 
and  de  gospel  serbices,  but  people  ob  color  no  bisness  m 
dlin'  wid  dere  souls — don  spose  dey  got  much." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  339 

• 

"  Then  you  go  to  church,  Zaidee  ?" 

"  Yes  Missey,  but  I  take  short  perusal  ob  de  exercises, 
and  comes  home  to  dess  missis'  har;  de  Scripture  say  long  har, 
be  glory  to  white  folks.  San  Peter  must  know  how  more 
delightful  long  braids  is  dan  short." 

The  comical  expression  of  Zaidee's  face,  as  she  solemnized 
her  countenance,  caused  Jeanie  to  break  into  one  of  her  old 
laughs,  which  was  welcome  music  to  her  mother,  and  took 
the  heart  of  the  servant. 

"  Miss  Jinny,  you  sartain  be  the  comicalist  chile,"  Zaidee 
laid  down  her  head  to  chuckle.  "I  din  know  how  pretty 
your  teef  was  fore,  dey  laff  so  sociably." 

"My  dear  love,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  coming  from  her 
dressing  room,  "  I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  so  joyous  ;  you 
are  then  pleased  with  my  taste.  You  are  quite  perfect.  We 
must  have  tableaux  for  you,  to  teach  you  to  display  your 
numerous  graces.  There  is  nothing  like  knowing  how  to 
exercise  one's  powers." 

"  I  clar  I  dunno  which  be  de  mos  young,  and  most 
splendid." 

"  You  must  do  your  prettiest,  to-morrow  for  us  both," 
turning  to  the  maid,  "  we  shall  be  taken  for  sisters,  only  I 
fear  as  one  of  my  scholastic  friends  would  say,  the  daughter 
is  '  matre  pulchra  filia  pulchrior.'  How  like  we  are  !  Let 
me  see  your  foot  Jeanie — pttite — good  instep — the  Castle- 
mans  all  have  it.  How  like  a  fairy  you  dance,  pray  where 
did  you  become  so  accomplished  in  the  Motus  art,  but  we 
might  as  well  ask  how  the  birds  sing.  Polk  a  little,  my  bird, 
or  waltz,  Zaidee  will  give  us  music." 

Jeanie  consented.  Zaidee's  melody  was  inspiring,  and 
though  her  heart  was  aching  with  anxiety,  she  commenced 
a  polka  with  her  mother. 

"  There  is  hardly  room  here,  I  wish  to  practise  a  new 
dauce  with  yon.  It  is  quite  delightful  with  such  a  partner." 
Mrs.  Miller  pirouetted  and  glided  about  the  room,  then 


340  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

• 

returning,  placed  a  wreath  of  pink  and  silver,  on  Jeanie's 
head.  "  Now  fancy  me  our  cher  ami  Larkfield,  and  give 
me  your  prettiest  steps.  You  must  not  treat  him  so  caval 
ierly,  he  is  a  little  dashing,  but  the  more  amusing — come 
into  the  drawing  room  my  love  ;  follow,  Zaidee." 

"  Mamma,  I  feel  sad  to-day,  but  if  you  wish  it,  I  will 
oblige  you."  Pensively,  she  passed  down  the  stair-case,  her 
waist  encircled  by  the  arm  of  her  mother.  They  entered 
the  drawing  room,  commencing  a  waltz.  Jeanie's  cheek 
flushed  with  the  exercise,  as  she  sped  the  giddy  whirl,  with 
seeming  thoughtless  merriment.  As  if  the  dancer's  step 
kept  time  to  no  other  beat  than  the  tawny  foot — the  ear 
listened  to  no  other  sound  than  the  negro  melody. 

The  anxiety  attending  the  situation  of  her  father,  the 
revelation  of  her  mother's  want  of  principle,  and  the 
conflict  that  her  mind  endured  in  its  love  and  solicitude  for 
Ralph,  all  tended  to  cloud  her  native  joyousness.  "Oh, 
were  it  God's  will,"  her  spirit  murmured,  the  elastic  form 
still  moving,  "  I  could  be  content  to  know  that  these  heart 
throbs  were  to  be  now  forever  stilled,  rather  than  pass  a  life 
in  such  senseless  folly." 

At  the  early  hour  of  eleven,  in  the  gay  ball  dress — the 
glittering  wreath  upon  her  head,  paling  in  its  hue  the  warm 
cheek  it  contrasted,  she  looked  worldly  and  volatile  as  ner 
mother.  While  thus  occupied,  a  visitor  had  unexpectedly 
come  upon  them.  How  changed  the  situation  of  each  since 
they  had  parted,  in  the  flooding  perilous  waves  !  How 
unlike  was  the  beautiful  gaily  adorned  sylph  to  Mr.  Hamlin, 
with  her  bright  color  and  flower  garlanded  brow,  to  the 
pale,  almost  speechless  girl,  he  left  clinging  to  her  frail 
support,  appealing  to  her  Grod. 

Mr.  Hamlin  had  heard  much  of  Jeanie,  and  of  the  admir- , 
ation  she  had  excited,  eclat  increased  by  her  reputed  wealth. 
The  rumor  also  of  her  engagement  to  Ralph,  had  been  cur 
rently  reported,  his  intimacy  in  the  family  verifying  the  tale. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  341 

He  had,  he  believed,  calmed  the  excitement  of  feeling, 
the  news  first  occasioned  him  ;  and  with  resolution  purposed 
to  advance  the  happiness  of  two  in  whose  fate  he  felt  so 
deep  an  interest.  But  to-day,  he  had  come  on  an  errand  to 
Jeanie,  overwhelming  in  its  import.  Lightness  and  frivolity 
even  forsook  the  matron.  She  commanded  her  nerves,  and 
with  self-possession  met  the  visitor.  Mr.  Hamlin  returned  her 
salutation  coldly,  his  eye  resting  upon  her  now  agitated  child. 

Radiant  and  beautiful  she  looked  to  him  with  her  height 
ened  color,  her  red  lips  and  the  quick  breathing  of  her 
panting  form.  Her  dance  had  ceased,  but  still  he  seemed  to 
see  her  whirling,  whirling  ;  to  what  goal  ?  her  mother's  des 
tiny  ?  Better,  he  felt,  she  had  sunk  beneath  the  flood. 

Could  it  be  Jeanie  ?  her  father  dying,  and  she  robed  in 
gayest  flower  tints,  practising  for  a  ball  with  her  worldly 
mother,  who  would  render  her  insensible  to  his  situation. 

Transfixed,  she  caught  the  eye  of  him  whose  glance  had 
inspired  her  with  such  whole-souled  confidence.  When  a 
little  child,  she  had  shrunk  from  the  condemnation  it  con 
veyed:  again  it  had  melted  her  with  its  power;  but  now  his 
earnest  afflicting  gaze  was  crushing  and  ominous. 

"  Jeanie!"  he  said,  in  low,  impressive  tones,  bringing  to 
her  memory  those  upon  the  river,  "  we  have  lived  to  meet 
again."  He  approached,  fearing  .to  clasp  her,  as  when  he 
tore  her  from  the  wreck ;  for  now  she  seemed  to  him  in  dan 
ger  of  one  more  appalling.  He  did  not  fold  her  in  his  arms, 
as  once  he  might  have  done.  She  was  no  longer  the  child, 
the  simple  Jeanie ;  but  as  she  stood  in  her  gay  dress,  she 
seemed  to  his  prejudiced  eye,  but  a  type  of  her  false,  giddy 
parent. 

Jeanie  read  in  the  glance,  intelligence  of  evil,  and  stand 
ing  before  him,  with  her  hands  clasped,  exclaimed: 

"  Have  you  come  from  dear  papa  ?  is  he  worse  ?"  Her 
rose-tinted  cheeks  grew  white,  and  her  slender  fingers  blood 
less,  as  she  caught  his  hand. 


342  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Yes,  and  would  see  his  child;  he  is  failing  fast,  we  fear, 
and  cannot  survive  many  days.  He  is  at  the  St.  Charles. 
I  have  come  for  you.  But,"  looking  upon  her  dress,  "  you 
are  hardly  ready." 

The  intelligence  and  reproach  conveyed,  caused  Jeanie  to 
sink  trembling  upon  a  sofa,  each  moment  growing  faint, 
until  her  aspect  awakened  the  attention  of  her  mother. 

"  The  news  has  killed  her,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  folding  her 
daughter  in  her  arms,  then  laying  her  head  upon  a  pillow. 
Turning  to  Mr.  Hamlin,  she  said: 

"Will  you  go  into  the  ante-room;  I  will  presently  see 
you  there;"  then  to  Zaide^,  "  this  dress  will  be  ruined." 

"  Have  you  no  care  for  the  heart  within  the  shining 
robe  ?"  were  words  that  came,  though  unuttered,  to  the 
lips  of  the  visitor,  as  he  rose  to  obey. 

"  Ohl  do  not  leave  me,"  said  Jeanie,  reviving.  "  I  must 
talk  to  you,  alone;  no  one  else  loves  my  dying  father." 

"  Be  brief,  then,  my  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  impa 
tiently;  "  it  is  the  last  conference  I  shall  allow  upon  this  sub 
ject."  Mrs.  Miller  went  to  her  private  reception  room. 

Left  with  Jeanie,  whose  colorless  face  and  expression  told 
her  sufferings,  Mr.  Hamlin  seated  himself  beside  the  sofa, 
avoiding  even  a  touch  of  the  little  pale  hand  that  lay  near 
him. 

"I  was  cruel,  Jeanie,  to  be  so  abrupt,"  said  he;  "but 
had  I  met  you  otherwise,  I  might  have  more  reasonably 
feared  the  shock  this  painful  news  has  given  you:  I  came  to 
obtain  the  permission  of  your  mother  to  go  to  him:  she 
cannot  refuse  so  near  his  death." 

"  Why  has  no  one  written  me  of  his  condition  ?" 

"  He  was  informed  that  such  reports  marred  your  enjoy 
ment." 

"Who  said  this?  Oh!  Mr.  Hamlin,  do  not  lose  your 
confidence  in  me,  because  I  seem  so  heartless!" 

"  You  did  not,  then,  direct  the  message,  my  dear  girl! 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  343 

i 

nor,  perhaps,  detain  Ralph  from  his  return  North  ?  I  need 
not  ask  you,  that  blush  tells  the  tale.  You  did  not  know 
the  importance  of  his  presence  at  this  time  in  the  last  settle 
ment  of  affairs,  and  we  cannot  blame  you." 

"  Perhaps,  I  kept  him,  but  I  did  not  intend  to." 

"  Say  no  more,  Jeanie.  Love  is  more  potent,  some 
times,  than  money.  Why  are  you  so  agitated?  hare  I 
intruded  ?" 

Mr.  Hamlin's  manner  was  suddenly  cold  and  reserved. 

"  Don't  speak  of  me.  I  would  hear  of  dear  papa,  and 
go  to  him  immediately." 

"  I  will  see  your  mother."  His  eyes  fell  upon  her  fingers 
heavy  with  jewels.  He  glanced  at  them  hastily.  The 
simple  ring,  he  gave  her,  was  not  there. 

"  So  she  values  my  token.  Have  I  been  so  weak  as  to 
think  she,  a  child  to  me  in  years,  would  keep  it  ?"  The 
murmur  was  a  silent  one,  yet  Jeanie  saw  the  inquiring  look. 

"  I  have  given  it  to  Ralph.  Do  not  ask  why  I  did  it." 
Her  cheek  reddened. 

"  That  is  unnecessary."  A  forced  smile  passed  over  the 
stern  lip. 

"  It  was  not  that  I  did  not  value  it."  Jeanie  detained 
the  speaker  by  a  movement  of  her  hand.  Shrinking  from 
the  touch,  the  fingers  were  dropped,  as  if  carelessly. 

"  The  act  explains  it :  it  is  a  trifling  matter."  Turning, 
he  sought  Mrs.  Miller,  and  found  her  awaiting  him. 

"  Is  Jeanie  better  ?"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  she  has  finally  learned  the  truth  respecting  her 
father.  Has  she  your  permission  to  accompany  me  ?  It  will 
be  a  final  parting." 

"  No  :  his  scheme  shall  be  frustrated.  She  is  henceforth 
separated  from  those  who  would  alienate  her  from  me." 

"  Madam,  you  are  cruelly  treating  Jeanie." 

"  By  what  authority,  sir,  do  you  presume  to  dictate  to  me 
my  duty,  or  censure  my  acts  ?" 


344  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  haughty  woman  now  avoided  the  eyes  that  rested 
upon  her. 

"  By  that  of  a  dying  parent.  Would  you  add  the  last 
drop  of  agony  to  his  cup  ?  would  you  strike  the  death-Mow 
to  every  hope  ?"  As  Mr.  Hamlin  spoke,  a  storm  c'oud 
gathered  upon  his  brow,  until  his  forehead  corrugated  ',rith 
intense  feeling.  For  the  first  tune,  he  nearly  approa  hed 
her.  Taking  her  by  the  arm,  with  vehement  utteranc*",  he 
said  : 

"  Elinor  !  will  you  pile  up,  sin  upon  sin,  until  you  udd 
death  to  misery — causing  grief  to  all  who  ever  have  1  JFed 
you?" 

What  was  there  in  those  earnest  tones,  in  that  deep  \  (nee 
as  it  for  the  first  time  called  her  maiden  name,  that 
impressed  her  ? 

"Will  you  let  her  go? 

"  No — not  to  him  who  discarded  her  mother  ;  and  would 
now  take  from  me  the  only  being  who  loves  me.  Why  would 
you,  too,  make  me  more  miserable,  you  who  seem  to  wake  the 
dead  in  my  memory  ;  and  so  often  bring  Hugh  Shelbourne 
to  life." 

"  Who  told  you  that  Hugh  Shelbourne  was  dead  ?" 

"  What  do  you  know  of  him  ?  because  you  sometimes 
seem  to  wear  his  lineaments,  sometimes  bring  him  back  to  my 
imagination,  think  not  that  you  are  like  him — no,  he  never 
would  have  thus  treated  me  ;  but  from  his  grave,  would 
almost  leap  to  resent  my  wrongs." 

"  Who  told  you  he  was  dead  ?" 

"I  have  known  it  for  years,  first  from  the  tongue  of  Mi, 
Lawrence." 

"  With  a  smile  of  derision,  Mr.  Hamlin  said  :  "  One  that 
ever  loved  you,  would  most  desire  your  good.  It  is  no  kind 
ness  to  embitter  your  feelings  against  your  husband  ;  and  to 
make  miserable  your  only  child.  The  hour  may  come,  when 
you  will  wish  you  had  sought  his  forgiveness.  But  it  is  of 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  345 

Jeanie   I  would  now  speak,  she  must  go  to  her  father — 
tomorrow  he  may  not  be  among  the  living." 

"  We  have  dinner  company  then  ;  and  I  must  show  my 
daughter  to  expectant  friends.  Pardon  me,  but  you  exag 
gerate  the  illness  of  Mr.  Miller.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I 
drop  this  conversation.  She  is  very  happy  now,  Ealph  can 
tell  you  this  ;  we  are  engaged  for  a  masquerade,  on  Wednes 
day  next ;  it  will  disappoint  your  brother,  should  she  be 
absent." 

"  You  will  not  compel  her  to  go,  by  persuading  her  that 
my  report  is  false  ?" 

"  I  will  show  the  world  that  we  are  heedless  of  the  exis 
tence  of  the  man,  whom  I  have  long  since  ceased  to  call 
my  husband  ;  and  if  Jeanie  is  not  now  as  indifferent  to  him, 
she  soon  shall  be  !" 

"  Wednesday  her  father  may  be  dead."  M 

"  A  blessed  day  to  her  mother." 

"  Have  you  no  heart  left  ?" 

"  Did  ever  I  possess  one  ?  you  believe  it  not." 

"  I  have  little  reason  to  think  you  ever  displayed  its  faith; 
but  of  this,  let  those  complain,  who  have  suffered.  I  feel 
that  God  and  His  ministering  angels  guard  your  child  ;  and 
that  the  arrow  of  death  will  be  stayed,  that  her  father  may 
embrace  her  ;  and,  furthermore,"  Mr.  Hamlin  now  drew 
nearer  Mrs.  Miller,  while  his  eye  steadily  regarded  her  :  "  I 
have  vowed,  also,  to  bring  you  to  him,  with  the  permission 
of  an  overruling  Providence." 

"  That  is  a  decision  to  be  derided.  Why  do  you  care  to 
unite  us  in  the  hour  of  death  ?"  Mrs.  Miller  softened,  feel 
ing  the  influence  of  a  nature  she  had  long-  vainly  resisted. 
"  Would  you  have  me  go  to  him  a  hypocrite  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  enough  that  you  enacted  that  part  as  a 
bride  ;  I  would  not  have  you  thus  cloaked  at  the  bed  of 
death." 

15* 


346  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Would  the  stain  of  falsehood  then  pass  from  the  brow 
of  the  widowed  ?" 

With  excitement  quivering  in  every  nerve,  Elinor  Miller 
asked  of  the  stern  man  she  secretly  loved,  a  question  he 
could  not  misunderstand. 

"  I  have  ever  pitied  as  well  as  condemned  you.  Your 
presence  could  not  long  console  him.  You  say  that  he  cast 
you  off ;  but  is  there  not  another  mightier,  who  will  cast 
off  all  but  His  chosen  ones  ?  The  earthly  and  the  Heav 
enly,  both  may  say,  '  Ye  knew  your  duty,  but  ye  did  it  not.' 
Do  you  relent,  and  give  me  Jeanie  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  resolute." 

Mr.  Hamlin  walked  into  the  adjoining  room  to  bid  fare 
well  to  the  daughter.  He  found  her  weeping.  "  We  are 
denied.  What  shall  I  say  to  your  father  for  you  ?"  With 
her  head  buried  in  her  hands,  Jeanie  sobbed  audibly.  Mr. 
Hamlin  was  agonized  with  the  spectacle  ;  he  forgot  all  but 
the  object  of  his  tenderness  and  sympathy.  Leaning  for 
ward,  he  took  hold  of  the  hands  that  lay  concealed  beneath 
her  face,  "  What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  You  cannot  go." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  so.  Tell  him  I  am  with  him  in 
spirit;  that  my  prayers  will  not  cease  for  him;  that  if  I  am 
not  permitted  to  close  his  eyes  in  death,  I  may  open  mine 
with  his  on  the  resurrection  morn.  Oh!  tell  him,"  Jeanie's 
voice  trembled,  while  the  hand  that  rested  upon  the  silken 
hair  gently  caressed  it,  "  that  I  once  did  him  cruel  wrong: 
I  believe  it  now." 

"  I  understand  you,  Jeanie." 

"  Poor  papa!     How  blest  he  is  to  have  you  with  him." 

Lifting  her  head,  the  smile  that  came  across  her  face  was 
like  that  when  on  the  waters.  Lost  to  all  memories  but 
those  of  hours  when  she  had  been  so  dear,  he  forgot  that  she 
was  not,  as  then,  the  angel  of  his  future  hopes. 

"  I  will  deliver  your  words,"  he  said;  "continue  to  trust 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  347 

in  the  Lamb  that  was  slain;  for  He  is  mighty  to  deliver. 
When  bereft  of  an  earthly  parent,  you  will  not  be  left 
fatherless."  The  parting  made,  Mr.  Hamlin  passed  out 
ward.  The  mother  went  to  her  daughter. 

"  Poor  chile,"  said  Zaidee,  who  came  at  the  call  of  her 
mistress;  "  she  car  more  for  her  ole  par,  dan  for  her  buful 
robe  tail.  Miss  Jenny  surprise  me  wid  her  uncommon  way, 
Missis.  She  hab  no  sensible  feelin'  like  Missis,  for  her 
splendid  clobes — faintin'  in  her  luster  gown!" 

"  My  dear  one!"  addressing  Jeanie,  "these  feelings  may 
be  impressible  at  first,  but  I  cannot  allow  you  to  indulge 
them.  That  your  childish  heart  may  be  at  rest,  you  shall 
be  permitted,  should  your  father  become  worse,  to  write 
him  a  farewell  letter;  but  one  thing  I  shall  never  again 
allow,  ancffcBfer  private  interview  with  Mr.  Hamlin.  There 
is  too  much  cant  and  humbug  sentiment  between  you." 

"  Do  you  not  like  Mr.  Hamlin  ?" 

"  Well  enough.  Be  a  good  girl,  and  obey  my  wishes, 
and  you  shall  have  every  indulgence.  You  nu,y  go  to 
church  to-morrow  morning.  Towards  evening,  you  can 
attend  to  the  duties  of  your  toilette.  I  cannot  be  disap 
pointed  in  your  appearance  at  the  table.  It  is  quite  a 
matter  of  pride  with  me.  Consumption  is  a  lingering 
complaint;  by  the  way,  Mrs.  Castlemau  has  been  evaporat 
ing  for  many  years,  and  your  papa  may  outlive  us  all. 
Zaidee,  come  and  see  how  your  young  mistress  is  looming 
up!  See!  what  a  color!  don't  let  your  beautiful  hair  be 
tumbled  by  this  unnecessary  excitement." 

"  Miss  Jinny  make  me  tink  of  the  vilets,  so  blue  and  pale 
dis  •  day.  I  dunno  see  de  red  cheek  misses  talk  'bout, 
mabby  she  got  'em  'widstandin'.  Niggers  hab  no  eyes  half 
de  time.  I  was  brung  up  to  see  de  way  Missis  see:  so  I 
reckon,  she  hab  got  red  cheek.  I  see  somebody  at  the 
window — a  small  brack  indiwidual." 

"  Who  ?"  Jeanie  languidly  inquired. 


348  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Che,  che!  Miss  Jinny;  him  ain't  no  peoples,  dey  call  him 
monkees.  Come  see  him.  It  sinful  to  cry  so  'bout  dis  old 
man;  but  'spose  white  folks'  custom  to  dere  faders;  dunno, 
niggers  don'  hab  none  enny  'count;  dey  kindir  mix  popper- 
lation,  and  make  theysels  inconwenience  findin'  dere  ances 
tor.  Dis  rappin'  gown  hab  seen  a  heap  o'  trouble.  Misses 
wear  it  in  her  griebing  times." 

"  Does  mamma  ever  cry  ?" 

"  Oh,  Lor'  save  us!  Miss  Jinny,  she  be  berry  trouble 
some  when  she  hab  her  season  ob  grief.  Zaidee  ain't  no 
'count,  enny  way.  She  jus'  cober  up  and  holler  like  a  disci 
ple  o'  Satan.  She  hab  mos'  distressid  fits  ob  grieb  I  eber 
tended;  lass  one  misses  hab  I  gub  her  up  to  de  Magdalen  ob 
souls,  and  spend  de  ebenin'  wid  select  weception  ob  people 
ob  color." 

"  Please  be  quiet  now,  Zaidee,  and  hand  me  my 
Bible." 

"  I  can't  missy,  on  no  'count.  Missis  tell  me  to  put  sucn 
eolemtys  'way  till  you  get  ober  your  distressid  periods.  She 
hab  no  'pinion  you  spile  your  buful  eyes.  She  be  gone  see 
Mar's  Lawrence,  a  big  gemmen  wid  big  fisker." 

Jeanie  dismissed  the  servant  with  a  shudder  at  the  last 
intelligence. 

"  You  will  not  be  fatherless,"  were  the  comforting  words 
of  Mr.  Hamlin,  as  he  left  her.  Still  and  calm  she  lay,  her 
features  bereft  of  color,  in  converse  with  her  God.  The 
consolation  of  His  word  was  deprived  her,  but  she  was  left 
the  privilege  of  prayer.  A  fervent  petition  went  up  from 
her  lips,  that  she  might  see  her  father  yet  on  earth.  Mem 
ory  furnished  her  passages  from  Holy  writ,  that  swelled  her 
bosom  with  confidence  and  rapture.  She  tried  to  image  him 
on  his  dying  bed,  preparing  for  his  heavenly  flight.  She 
drew  forth  his  picture,  which  she  wore  on  her  bosom,  and 
imagined  the  original  pale  in  death. 

How  beautiful,  how  transporting  was  the  passage,  '  Eye 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  349 

hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard  all  that  God  hath  pre 
pared  for  those  that  love  Him." 

Let  thy  tears  flow,  sweet  Jeanie,  till  the  brimming  waters, 
bitter  though  they  be  as  Marah's,  overflow  the  font  ;  thy 
soul  will  yet  be  comforted. 

Left  alone  in  her  chamber  at  night,  she  murmured,  "  This 
is  my  cross,  and  must  I  not  bear  it  meekly  ?"  The  moon 
was  shining  over  the  distant  harbor,  whence  arose  a  forest 
of  masts  ;  and  nearer  by,  lofty  spires  lay  against  the  pale 
blue  sky,  pointing  with  their  gilded  fingers  to  the  beautiful 
spirit  land.  She  rose,  and  inhaled  from  her  lattice  the  soft 
breath  now  coming  over  early  flowers  ;  and  as  she  gazed 
and  listened,  the  harps  of  angels  seemed  tuned  to  welcome 
with  Hosannahs  her  father's  soul  to  heaven.  Her  heart  beat 
audibly  as  she  thought  of  the  time  when  the  "  sun  shall  be 
darkened,  and  the  moon  shall  not  give  her  light  ;  and  the 
stars  of  heaven  shall  fall " — when  the  Son  of  Man  "  shall 
gather  together  His  elect  from  the  four  winds,  from  the 
uttermost  part  of  the  earth,  to  the  uttermost  past  of 
heaven."  Ministering  angels  seemed  with  their  white  wings 
to  fan  her  aching  brow,  while  with  seraph  voices,  they  sung 
the  song  of  the  redeemed,  carrying  her  soul  on  full-fledged 
pinions  to  the  mercy-seat,  where  in  sweet  fullness  of  faith, 
she  laid  her  heavy  burden  down. 

Through  the  stars,  beyond  the  effulgence  of  heaven's  gor 
geous  canopy,  seemed  to  come  a  voice  sweeter  than  the  sil 
very  sound  of  earthly  lyres  : 

"  When  my  father  and  mother  forsake  me,  then  the 
Lord  will  take  me  up." 

Her  restless  spirit  which  had  caused  her  to  weep  and 
struggle  from  the  insatiate  cravings  that  mortals  this  side 
of  heaven  must  ever  feel,  now  quenched  its  longings  in  that 
living  stream,  whence  all  that  are  athirst  may  drink. 

She  had  become,  after  the  receipt  of  a  letter  from  Ralph, 
again  reconciled  to  him,  yet  her  reliance  on  his  principles 


300  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

was  not  sufficiently  firm  to  admit  of  a  betrothal  between 
them.  His  persevering  attentions  were  to  her  a  guarantee 
of  his  sincerity,  and  his  professions  of  love  too  dear  to  her 
heart  to  cause  her  to  be  unrelenting  in  her  displeasure. 

It  was  a  painful  thought,  in  this  hour  of  sadness,  that  he 
whom  she  loved  could  not  now  console  her  ;  she  saw  his  fond, 
radiant  smile,  but  it  was  one  that  she  would  shut  from  her 
vision  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  ;  she  heard  his  glad  voice 
as  it  rang  like  a  chime  of  gay  bells  on  her  ear — but  it  was- 
not  one  to  whisper,  "  Peace,  be  still  ;"  she  felt  the  inspira 
tion  of  his  joyous  gifted  presence,  but  with  flowery  chains 
it  bound  her  to  earth  and  to  life's  pleasures. 

In  the  midst  of  her  affliction,  for  the  mysterious  workings 
of  the  heart  are  often  thus  inconsistent,  came  the  remem 
brance  of  her  lover's  urgent  suit. 

Her  answer  must  be  made.  She  heard  in  the  darkness, 
the  fervor  of  an  appeal,  coming  from  .lips  whose  accents 
were  music  ;  she  saw  the  reproachful  glance  of  an  eye  that 
never  quailed  with  her  most  cutting  upbraidings,  though 
the  mounting  blood  told  of  the  wounds  they  made  ;  and 
held  tightly  the  heart,  that  leapt  at  the  winning  call,  to 
find  in  his  passionate  lo^  henceforth  her  home — in  a 
husband's  devotion,  freedom  from  the  harrowing  suspense, 
occasioned  Joy  the  conflict  of  her  parents. 

It  was  enough  that  she  could  not  see  him  in  her  grief — 
that  for  him  she  could  give  but  love's  laughing  hours. 

In  K^lph's  disposition  and  character  she  saw  that  they 
were  alike  ;  this  she  had  felt,  as  they  together  had  enjoyed 
the  beautiful,  and  with  merriment  the  ridiculous.  In  impetu 
osity,  and  ardor  of  temperament,  how  similar  I  how  as  one 
their  senses  had  thrilled,  their  young  hearts  bounded  ! 

Thus  far  was  the  parallel  just.  But  in  the  education  of 
the  soul  how  diverse.  Through  the  fiery  ordeal  of  earth's 
trials  and  temptations,  they  could  not  alike  pass  unscathed. 
The  moon  went  down  ere  Jeanie  slept.  Over  the  heavens 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  351 

the  darkness  that  precedes  the  dawn  had  come.  But  the 
music  of  the  golden  harps  grew  faint — fainter,  as  the  sor 
rowing  one  sank  into  a  dreamy  slumber  ;  and  if  angels 
winged  over  the  couch  of  the  virgin,  she  was  unconscious 
of  the  blessed  ministration.  The  spires  that  had  seemingly 
kissed  the  stars,  were  now  veiled  in  cloudy  mists  ;  and  over 
the  gay  world  of  sleepers,  the  watch-fires  of  heaven  burned 
unseen. 

On  her  Saviour's  bosom,  as  a  "  little  child,"  Jeanie  had 
sunk  to  rest  ;  promising  Him  that  ere  the  morrow's  sun  had 
set,  she  would  obey  His  last  command  :  "Do  this  in  remem 
brance  of  me." 


352  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

MR.  MILLER  had  not  felt,  until  now,  how  hope  had 
buoyed  him  until  the  last. 

With  earnest  inquiry,  he  met  the  sad  look  of  Mr.  Hamlin 
on  his  return  from  his  unsuccessful  mission,  and  as  he  took 
his  outstretched  hand,  said  : 

"Where  is  she?  our  Jeanie  ?" 

"  My  poor  friend — she  cannot  come — she  sent  you  her 
love,  and  to  God  her  prayers  ;  but  is  detained  from  you,  by 
a  will  she  cannot  thwart." 

"  Did  she  know  how  ill  I  was  ?"  ' 

"  No — she  did  not." 

"  I  would  have  laid  her  young  head  here — once  more." 

The  arms  of  the  emaciated  invalid  fell  heavily  across  his 
sunken  breast.  The  action  was  eloquent  with  grief.  It  told 
his  yearning — his  desolation. 

Mr.  Hamlin  delivered  the  daughter's  message  ;  but  was 
himself  too  much  distressed  to  prove  a  comforter.  On  the 
entrance  of  the  physician,  he  left  his  friend,  for  his  own 
apartment.  He  was  long  in  deep  thought.  "  How  can  I  " 
was  the  query  of  his  mind,  "  aid  poor  Jeanie  in  this  great, 
long  cherished  desire  of  her  heart  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

SOFTLY  bright  the  sun  shone  down  upon  the  afflicted 
girl,  as  she  sought  rest  for  her  heart  in  the  sanctuary 
of  God.  Her  voice  was  tremulous  with  feeling  as  she  bade 
her  mother  adieu,  who  petitioned  her  to  come  back  smiling 
and  rosy.  How  much  more  natural  was  the  expression 
which  followed  her,  though  unseen.  Had  she  not  some 
where  read,  "  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  mammon  ;"  "  Be  ye 
not  conformed  to  the  world  ?"  Her  searching  gaze,  as  the 
vehicle  rolled  from  the  door,  showed  a  conscience  ill  at  ease 
For  a  moment  the  veil'  that  enwrapped  her  features  was 
thrown  aside,  and  remorse  distorted  them  with  a  look  of 
anguish. 

It  was  late  when  she  entered  the  church.  With  hushed 
footstep  she  glided  timidly  up  the  aisle.  The  congregation 
were  at  prayer.  She  was  alone  in  the  pew,  and  observed 
no  one  around  her.  Her  heart  was  bursting  with  sorrow. 
She  soon  felt  a  light  tap  upon  her  shoulder  ;  looking  up  she 
saw  the  brilliant  face  of  Ralph  Larkfield  gazing  upon  her 
earnestly.  He  had  learned  where  she  was,  and  followed 
her. 

"  Jeanie,  I  must  talk  with  you — feign  illness,  and  go  out 
soon,"  he  whispered.  She  returned  a  glance  of  reproach, 
accompanied  with  a  low  "  hush." 

A  bright  blush  kindled  on  her  cheek  at  the  attempt  made 
by  Ralph  to  draw  her  into  conversation. 

In  a  voice  low  and  sweet  she  sung  the  morning  chants, 
and  united  audibly  in  the  responses  of  the  litany.  Inseusi- 


354  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

blc  to  other  sounds,  Ralph  listened  to  the  clear  accents  that 
had  ever  charmed  him  more  than,,  the  simple  beauty  of 
Jeanie.  He  rarely  attended  public  worship,  and  soon  be 
came  impatient  for  a  release.  When  near  the  conclusion 
of  the  liturgy,  he  tore  from  a  prayer-book  a  fly-leaf,  and  on 
it  pencilled  words  indicative  of  his  wish  for  an  answer, 
handing  them  secretly. 

The  arch  look,  the  expressive  eye,  and  pressure  of  her 
hand  she  could  not  mistake.  Jeanie  dropped  the  paper, 
without  noticing  its  purport. 

The  sermon  commenced,  to  which  she  listened  with  her 
eyes  fixed  earnestly  upon  the  speaker.  The  subject  of  the 
discourse  was  "  Christ  and  Him  crucified." 

The  birth,  the  baptism,  the  miracles,  the  agony  in  the 
garden,  the  crucifixion,  the  resurrection  and  ascension  of  our 
Saviour,  were  eloquently  and  affectingly  related.  Then  fol 
lowed  the  mission  and  sufferings  of  the  apostles,  and  their 
sacrifices  for  their  hope  and  faith  in  Christ. 

There  was  no  oratory  in  the  delivery  of  the  preacher,  but 
she  felt  she  had  listened  to  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus — that 
it  became  the  Christian  to  act  upon  the  principles  of  the 
religion  he  professed,  and  that  those  must  be  positive  and 
well  defined  ;  that  no  apathy,  indolence,  selfishness,  or  pride 
must  benumb  its  vital  power  ;  but  that  in  all  things,  the 
heart  must  be  controlled,  and  moulded  into  the  likeness  of 
Christ. 

Was  there  no  sacrifice  required  of  her  heart  ?  no  idol  to 
resign,  that  she  might  erect  in  her  own  character  a  structure 
of  moral  beauty — a  broad  foundation  of  truth  and  right, 
and  with  zeal  more  perfect,  join  in  the  inward  and  spiritual 
worship  of  the  Great  Jehovah  ? 

Was  not  the  beloved  one  beside  her  in  heart  a  scoffer  at 
the  religion  she  prized,  and  would  practise  ?  Would  he  not 
deride  her  inwardly,  should  she  leave  him  to  kneel  at  the 
sacramental  altar,  there  to  partake  of  the  emblems  of  her 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  355 

Sariour's  death  ?  Passionately  as  her  pulses  had  thrilled 
beneath  his  fond  glances,  listening  to  tenderer  words,  was 
•roch  bliss  to  be  exchanged  for  the  hallowed  beams  of  the 
Bun  of  Righteousness  ? 

When  Ralph  again  looked  at  Jeanie,  it  was  with  a  long- 
drawn  sigh,  and  so  ludicrous  was  its  affected  solemnity,  but 
for  her  sorrow  and  devotional  feelings  she  must  have  smiled. 

The  last  prayer  was  offered,  and  the  blessing  pronounced, 
when  he  rose  from  a  seat  on  which  he  had  sat  restlessly, 
and  said,  in  a  muttered  tone  : 

"  '  Oh  that  I  might  have  my  request,  and  that  God  would 
grant  me  the  thing  that  I  long  for.' " 

He  had  observed  the  preparation  for  the  celebration  of 
the  Eucharist,  but  thought  not  that  Jeanie  would  partake 
of  the  rite. 

"  You  can  leave  me,"  she  said,  looking  for  the  first  time 
fully  in  the  eyes  of  Ralph.  The  light  in  hers,  the  radiance 
from  the  lamp  within,  spoke  her  enjoyment  of  God's  service. 
For  the  first  time  he  was  touched  with  solemnity,  and  seated 
himself,  determining  to  stay  with  her.  Her  countenance 
wore  to  him  strange,  impressive  beauty.  Earth-born  timid 
ity  and  shame  for  a  moment  struggled  with  her  soul.  She 
would  rather  that  he  had  left  the  church  ;  the  next,  she 
crushed  the  feeling  that  crimsoned  her  cheek,  and  to  herself 
murmured  : 

"  '  Ashamed  of  Jesus  !  sooner  far 
Let  evening  blush  to  own  a  star ; 
Ashamed  of  Jesus  !  just  as  soon 
Let  midnight  be  ashamed  of  noon.' 

Ralph  had  never  witnessed  the  ordinance  of  the  Lord's 
Supper,  and  now  looked  upon  the  spectacle  with  curiosity, 
if  not  interest.  And  when  the  gentle,  youthful  Jeanie 
passed  him,  as  it  seemed  to  him  on  spirit-wings,  his  frame 
chilled  with  sudden  and  fearful  emotion.  Across  him  came 
the  words  : 


350  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  The  one  may  be  taken,  and  the  other  left."  He  felt 
how  unworthy  he  was  to  aspire  to  the  possession  of  one  so 
good  and  holy  in  her  purposes  and  life.  Religion  for  the 
first  time  seemed  beautiful  in  his  eyes,  for  Jeanie  Miller  was 
to  him  its  typification.  With  his  vision  rapt,  he  saw  her 
kneel  at  the  altar. 

So  intently  he  watched  her,  he  saw  not  by  her  side  another 
form.  The  benediction  was  pronounced.  She  now  arose, 
to  meet  the  eye  of  Ralph,  but  instead,  hers  encountered 
those  of  his  brother  Philip.  The  quick  blood  mantled  her 
cheek,  then  receded,  leaving  it  paler  than  before.  His  look 
betrayed  the  recognition  he  did  not  speak.  It  seemed  to 
Ralph  the  congregation  would  never  pass  out,  and  for  the 
first  time  he  felt  a  pang  of  jealousy  as  he  saw  the  two  walk 
ing  together. 

Listening    to    the    organ,    which    swelled    its   anthems 

solemnly,  with  hushed  footsteps,  they  trod  the  sacred  aisle 

.  in  unison  of  feeling.     The  outer  door  reached,  Ralph  came 

towards  her,  with  a  manner  that  spoke  defiance  to  another's 

claim. 

Mr.  Hamlin  retreated  involuntarily,  but  still  lingered  in 
her  pathway  to  the  carriage.  So  deep  was  her  solicitude 
for  her  father,  she  seemed  unconscious  of  Ralph's  presence. 
Her  inquiring  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  face  of  his 
brother. 

"  How  is  papa  ?"  said  she  eagerly 

"  No  worse,  Jeanie." 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  see  him  ?" 

"  My  dear  girl !  have  you  permission  ?" 

"  No — but  my  conscience  tells  me  that  I  am  acting  right, 
even  in  thus  disobeying  my  mother." 

"  What  has  determined  you  ?"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  looking 
upon  Jeanie  anxiously. 

"  Every  emotion  of  my  heart  ancL-^Miscience.  My 
mother's  house  to-day,  is  to  be  a  scene  of  gaiety." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  357 

"  She  will  be  very  angry  with  you,  and  soon  your  only 
parent." 

"  You  told  me  yesterday,  I  would  not  be  fatherless.  Will 
you  not  take  me  with  you  to  papa  ?" 

"  You  will  accompany  us,  Ralph  ?"  Mr.  Hamlin  drew  the 
arm  of  Jeanie  within  his  own. 

The  younger  brother  bowed  haughtily,  and  went  another 
way. 

"  Ralph  !"  said  Jeanie,  apologetically.  But  the  sweet 
voice  was  now  unheeded.  A  painful  throb  agitated  the 
pleader's  heart  ;  she  would  not  have  caused  him  disappoint 
ment. 

"  You  will  scarcely  know  him,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  as  he 
handed  her  into  the  carriage,  "  till  you  meet  his  eye,  and 
pleasant  smile.  You  will  be  calm  ?" 

The  melancholy  beauty  of  Jeanie's  face,  as  she  seemed 
engrossed  in  the  contemplation  of  the  change  that  had 
transpired  in  her  father,  was  of  that  spiritual  cast,  that  poets 
love  to  paint. 

Yet  strange  as  it  might  be,  Mr.  Hamlin  thought  not  of  it. 
So  devoutly  he  worshipped  the  purity,  the  truth,  the  fidelity 
within  the  temple. 

"  I  will  try  to  be,  and  yet  I  fear."  Her  voice  choked 
with  emotion.  "  I  think — I  do  believe  it,  Mr.  Hamlin,  if 
mamma  was  to  see  papa  so  resigned  to  die,  the  current  of 
her  thoughts  might  change.  Oh  !  how  my  poor  heart  has 
craved  their  union  on  earth  ;  must  I  too,  be  denied  the  hope 
that  they,  and  all  I  love,  will  meet  in  Heaven  ?" 

"  Trust — trust,  Jeanie.  Do  you  not  remember  that  when 
I  knew  not  whether  we  should  cling  together,  or  part  for 
ever,  the  promise  I  then  made  ?  Is  that  promise  less  oblig 
atory,  because  you  are  cast  upon  the  waves  of  a  more 
tumultuous  sea  ?" 

In  a  low  voice,  the  comforter  asked  her  if  she  had  not 
faith  to  believe  that  the  God  who  could  condescend  to  reveal 


358  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    o & t 

Himself  to  her,  although  He  concealed  His  AAJS  and  pur 
poses,  had  not  the  same  power  to  touch  the  heart  of  another 
benighted  wanderer,  even  though  He  found  her  in  the  broad 
path  that  leadeth  to  destruction  ? 

"  By  your  example,"  said  he,  "  rebuke  the  erring  ones  you 
love — let  it  by  its  gentle  teachings  be  a  perpetual  monitor, 
showing  them  the  growth  of  grace  in  a  character  ever  watch 
ful  of  its  duty.  Was  not  David,  though  erring  and  imper 
fect,  saved,  and  blessed  in  his  earthly  pilgrimage,  and  finally 
made  the  type  of  our  Saviour,  and  the  beauty  of  Israel  ? 
Be  comforted,  be  hopeful,  Jeanie  ;  those  you  love,  may  yet 
turn  to  God.  Some  hearts  and  minds  require  more  discip 
line  than  others.  You  have  effected  much,  in  bringing  Ralph 
to  church." 

With  a  shudder,  Jeanie  recalled  his  conduct  there. 
The  deep  blush,  the  remembrance  caused,  was  attributed  by 
Mr.  Hamlin,  to  the  thought  that  she  had  perhaps  influenced 
him  to  good.  Unconsciously,  his  manner  cooled  ;  he  grew^ 
reserved  and  gloomy.  After  a  pause,  in  a  tone  puzzling  to 
her,  he  said  : 

"  I  may — yes,  whatever  our  relative  positions,  however 
great  the  barrier  between  us — still  befriend  you.  Can  you 
under  all  circumstances,  trust  and  rely  upon  me  ?" 

Placing  her  little  hand  in  the  broad  one  of  her  friend, 
she  said  with  a  smile,  that  made  more  sad  her  tearful 
eyes  : 

"Wholly,  entirely  ;  as  I  can  none  else." 

"  That  trust,  believe  me,"  the  tones  of  the  speaker  were 
hoarse  with  feeling,  "  shall  never  be  abused.  Oh  !  why 
should  I  have  inspired  so  sweet  a  faith  ?"  the  heart  added, 
"  and  no  more. " 

Jeanie's  eyes  for  the  first  time,  fell  beneath  the  glance 
that  met  them.  It  was  unaccountably  earnest. 

"We  are  here  now."  The  carriage  stopped.  "I  wil] 
leave  you  in  the  parlor,  and  prepare;  your  father  to  see  you. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  359 

Remember  that  neither  he,  nor  Arthur,  have  met  you  since 
the  lost  child  was  found." 

Seating  herself  in  an  unoccupied  part  of  the  room,  Jeaiiie 
observed  that  Ralph  walked  in  the  distance,  within  view, 
but  with  no  intention  of  approaching  her.  She  looked 
towards  him,  but  he  avoided  her  eye,  and  continued  his  pace 
Jeauie  was  grieved,  that  in  addition  to  all  her  trouble,  she 
should  have  offended  him. 

Presently  Mr.  Lawrence  entered,  and  after  looking  about 
inquisitively,  saw  Jeanie.  Without  ceremony,  he  familiarly 
accosted  her,  at  the  same  tune  placing  himself  upon  the 
couch  where  she  sat,  which  space  he  so  nearly  filled,  as  to 
cause  her  to  alarmingly  retreat  into  the  corner,  in  which  she 
was  now  imprisoned  by  a  barrier — odious  and  disagreeable. 
Whipping  his  boot  with  a  flourish  of  his  dirk-cane,  he 
employed  his  unoccupied  hand,  in  coaxing  the  forest  of  hah 
on  his  face,  into  a  fanciful  bird-nest ;  then  suddenly,  as  if 
from  some  sagacious  thought,  turned  himself  squarely  upois 
Jeanie,  at  the  same  moment,  sweeping  her  cheek,  as  if  uncon 
sciously,  with  his  petted  adornment. 

With  a  shake  of  a  scented  handkerchief,  he  laid  his  head 
back,  when  pretending  weariness,  he  attempted  to  luminate 
a  pair  of  dead  eye-balls — an  effort  at  nonchalance,  in  his  own 
opinion,  admirably  successful,  though  he  had  the  vitality  to 
declare  himself,  "  deliciously,  and  soporifically  happy,"  and 
furthermore,  that  he  hoped  Miss  Jeanie  would  be  "  superla 
tively  amiable,"  if  he  took  a  nap  in  "heavenly  proximity" 
to  her. 

"  I  will  give  you  the  whole  couch,"  said  she,  rising. 

"By  no  means,  my  sweet  charmer — type  of  an  angelic 
mother,"  objected  the  beau,  at  the  same  time  seizing  her 
hand,  and  notwithstanding  her  indignation  and  timidity,  he 
attempting  to  raise  it  to  his  lips. 

Ralph  had  seemed  bund  to  Jeanie's  situation,  until  the 
impudence  of  the  swaggering  Lawrence  caused  his  blood 


360  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

to  boil  to  a  pitch  of  fury,  when,  without  warning,  the  latter 
found  himself  collared,  and  subsequently  rolling  upon  the 
carpet.  At  the  same  moment,  across  his  cheek  he  experi 
enced  smarting  sensations  from  a  succession  of  sharp  cuts 
from  his  own  cane,  which  in  the  hands  of  the  enraged 
Larkfield  inflicted  no  light  chastisement.  Blood  was  visible, 
and  to  Jeanie's  horror,  her  insulter  lay  seemingly  incapable 
of  rising,  though  every  limb  was  in  distorted  action,  to 
restore  the  prostrate  body  to  its  perpendicular  position. 

With  agitation,  she  saw  a  crowd  assembling,  while  in 
reply  to  the  queries  caused  by  the  affair,  Ralph  only 
muttered  violent  maledictions  upon  the  offender ;  threaten 
ing  him  with  another  caning  if  he  presumed  to  defend 
himself. 

The  contortions  of  the  fallen  culprit,  being  still  unavaila 
ble,  from  his  unwieldly  size,  aid  was  furnished  him  ;  when 
with  a  reeling  motion,  he  made  a  plunge  for  his  cane,  and 
before  his  arm  could  be  stayed,  drew  his  dirk,  and  with 
a  bull  roar,  and  headlong  pitch,  aimed  at  the  heart  of  Ralph. 

Seeing  the  flash  of  the  steel,  and  its  direction,  with  a 
sudden  dart  through  the  crowd,  and  a  wild  scream,  Jeanio 
clasped  the  neck  of  the  endangered  Larkfield. 

By  a  violent  rush  upon  the  assailant,  the  murderous 
weapon  was  seized  and  disposed  of.  When  the  fair  arms 
fell,  they  were  no  whiter  than  the  cheek  that  lay  hid  on 
the  breast  of  her  rash  young  lover.  While  thus  situated, 
supported  by  the  arm  of  Ralph,  who  trembled  yet  with 
indignation,  Mr.  Hamlin  entered  the  parlor. 

The  excitement  had  become  intense,  and  although  the 
affair  had  occupied  but  a  few  short  minutes,  to  Ralph  and 
Jeanie,  they  had  been  of  momentous  interest. 

Without  explanation,  she  extended  her  hand  to  Mr.  Ham 
lin,  saying  :  "  take  me  away." 

"  Never — never,  from  me,"  muttered  Ralph,  holding  the 
waist  of  Jeanie,  as  in  a  vice — "mine  you  have  proved 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  361 

yourself :"  then  aloud,  "  I  will  go  with  her,  Philip,  she 
must  see  me  first  ;  give  way,  my  friends — the  lady  is  still 
faint." 

Without  reply,  Mr.'  Hamlin  saw  Jeanie  taken  irresisti 
bly  by  his  impetuous  brother,  into  an  adjoining  room,  when 
the  door  closed  upon  them. 

Bewildered,  and  agonized  with  terror — scarcely  believing 
in  the  safety  of  the  daring  being  her  heart  yet  too  well 
loved,  Jeanie  looked  upon  him,  her  eyes  dilated,  her  form 
trembling  in  his  rapturous  clasp,  while  he  murmured  words 
of  fervent  import. 

"  Jeanie  !  Jeauie  !"  was  only  audible  hi  his  whisperings, 
"  the  tale  is  told  I  it  were  worth  a  thousand  deaths  to  know 
that  you  so  loved  me.  Can  it  be,  my  angel,  it  was  you,  so 
cold,  so  distant — you  who  threw  your  beautiful  arms  around 
me  ? — you  do  not  speak,  has  all  your  love  departed  ?  oh  ! 
that  I  might  ever  be  in  jeopardy  !" 

"  Ealph — I  cannot  talk  with  you  now — I  know  not  why 
I  am  here  with  you — I  was  so  terrified — where  is  your 
brother  ?  I  must  go  to  papa." 

"Not  until  you  assure  me  by  word  as  well  as  act,  that 
the  breast  on  which  this  dear  head  was  voluntarily  laid, 
shall  be  henceforth  your  shelter  ;  its  truth  and  fervor,  your 
reliance." 

"  Ralph  !  Ralph  !  I  could  not  see  him  kill  you — I  did  not 
think  of  aught " 

"But  of  the  sweet  idolatrous  worship,  that  only  equals 
his  you  would  have  protected  with  these  little  twining  arms. 
Jeanie  !  Jeanie  !  own  it,  and  be  forever  mine.." 

"  Ralph,  do  you  not  know — that  we  must  not  profane  the 
Sabbath  ?  Oh,  let  me  go  !" 

"Not  till  you  say  what  your  actions,  to-day  have 
proved. 

Sweet  and  blissful  to  the  loving  girl,  was  the  fond 
16 


* 


362  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

entreaty — yet  in  the  heart  conflict,  stern  principle  and  duty 
,  were  triumphant. 

"  Love  you  !"  said  she,  her  eyes  filling,  and  her  pale  lip 
and  cheek  reddening  :  "  Yes,  I  have  proved  it." 

"  You  shall  not  discard  me,  Jeanie.  Listen  :  before  the 
God  you  worship,  I  swear  to  win  your  respect.  How  long 
shall  be  my  probation  for  your  favor  ?" 

"  Ralph  !  can  a  nature  so  passionate,  so  faulty,  soon  learn 
self-control  ?  The  coming  year  will  prove  your  sincerity, 
and  your  love  for  me.  I  cannot  talk  with  you  now.  Oh  ! 
let  me  go  to  papa." 

"  Go  then  with  me." 

Arthur  met  his  sister  at  the  door  of  his  father's  room  ; 
he  silently  folded  her  in  his  arms,  and  led  her  within. 

Jeanie  thought  she  was  prepared  to  meet  the  invalid,  but 
she  had  not  pictured  the  change  his  lingering  illness  had 
wrought. 

It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  see  the  cheek  of  infancy  grow 
wan  with  illness  ;  the  lustrous  eyes  dim  and  hollow  ;  the 
sweet  fresh  lips  fevered  and  parched  with  death's  slow 
approaches,  as  he  comes  to  steal  a  darling  from  its  mother's 
breast  ;  appalling,  too,  is  the  beauty  of  a  dying  girl,  her 
young  face  radiant  with  a  hectic  glow — the  silken  hair 
beautiful  as  in  health,  curling  soft  around  the  cold  brow 
where  death's  dews  -rest ;  but  not  a  sight  like  the 
strong  man  laid  •  low.  It  is  another  more  impressive 
picture. 

The  pale  hands  of  the  invalid  were  extended  to  greet  his 
child.  The  young  head  bowed  upon  the  loving  breast, 
silently,  lest,  even  her  gentle  voice  might  too  harshly  shake 
the  worn  out  tenement.  Lightly,  it  lay  there,  as  if  it  were 
a  burden,  the  fount  of  tears  imprisoned,  while  upon  the 
heart  the  rush  of  feeling  beat. 

"  She  let  you  come,  bless  her  !  bless  you,  my  youngest 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  -      363 

darling  !     You  are  ill — and  looking  pale.     It  is  precious  to 
have  you  here." 

Jeanie  smoothed  the  long  thin  fingers,  looking  all  she 
could  not,  dared  not,  speak. 

"  Will  she  come  too  ?     Once — only  once,  that  I  may  see    -,. 
her  face  again  ?" 

"  I  hope  so.   Do  you  feel  peaceful  in  view  of  death,  papa  ?"  • 

"  I  have  set  my  house  in  order  ;  and  now  await  the 
bridegroom — I  only  wish  my  earthly  work  was  done.  My 
prayer  has  been  that  I  might  see  you.  You  must  not  leave 
me  again  ;  she  would  not  part  us  now." 

"  Can  I  assist  you  ?" 

"  My  sweet  one  !  It  is  but  an  insane  wish,  but  I  would 
once  more  see  your  mother.  I  would  be  reconciled  to  her, 
before  my  lips  are  closed.  Is  she  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  most  beautiful." 

"  She  ever  was  !  is  she  happy  ?  I  shall  leave  her  a 
portion  of  my  estate — oh  !  that  she  would  secure  a  heavenly 
inheritance.  My  breath  is  short  ;  I  cannot  long  be  with 
you." 

At  this  moment,  Mr.  Hamlin  and  Arthur  approached  the 
bedside.  Ralph  entered  by  another  door.  He  looked 
excited.  For  a  moment,  his  brother  anxiously  regarded 
him.  The  latter  sat  down  by  Jeanie,  and  with  earnestness, 
begged  her  to  accompany  him  to  the  outer  room. 

"  Not  now,  Ralph." 

With  a  stern  glance,  Mr.  Hamlin,  in  a  low  tone  said  : 
"  Can  you  not  postpone  such  matters  ?" 

Ralph  angrily  retreated  to  an  opposite  window. 

"  Arthur,  are  you  here  ?"  Mr.  Miller  put  out  his  wasted 
hand. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  You  will  find  my  will  in  my  desk.  -I  have  provided  for 
you  all- -not  forgetting  your  Aunt  Jane."  The  smile 
brought  nearer  the  child  and  father.  "  You  must  have  a 


364  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR 

guardian  ;  Arthur  will  have  other  ties,  and  will  not  be 
jealous  if  I  appoint  one  older.  Philip,  will  you  take  care 
of  my  little  girl  ?"  As  he  spoke  he  took  the  hand  of  the 
latter,  and  in  it  laid  one  of  Jeanie's. 

The  murmured,  "  I  will,"  was  fervently  uttered,  but  in  a 
husky  choked  voice.  At  the  same  moment,  the  trembling 
hand  was  dropped.  With  an  impetuous  movement,  Ralph 
approached  the  bedside,  looking  almost  insanely  upon  the 
pale  girl,  as  she  sank  on  her  low  seat,  her  head  bowed  upon 
her  father's  pillow. 

Mr.  Miller  observed  the  cloud  upon  the- handsome  brow, 
and  noted  its  expression,  as  it  fell  upon  his  child.  He 
seemed  to  read  the  tale  of  passionate  love  the  face  revealed. 

"  My  child,  will  you  make  me  one  promise  ?" 

"  What,  papa  ?" 

"  To  never  marry  one  to  whom  you  cannot  wholly  give 
your  affections." 

"  And  my  respect." 

"  And  no  one,  without  the  consent  of  your  guardian  ?" 

"  Jeanie,"  exclaimed  Ralph,  in  a  low  tone  of  entreaty — 
"  you  cannot  promise  this.  It  is  more  than  he  can  ask." 

"  Ralph  !"  The  tone  of  Jeanie  was  hushed,  but  reproach 
ful. 

"  Is  not  this  a  fitting  time,"  said  he,  audibly,  his  frame 
trembling  with  excitement,  "  to  now  pledge  me  your  hand  ?" 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?"  said  Mr.  Miller,  looking  into  the  eyes 
of  his  child.  With  folded  arms,  and  rigid  features,  Mr. 
Hamlin  looked  upon  the  young  couple  as  they  stood  together. 
He  saw  the  sweet,  pale  face  kindle  with  serious  emotion, 
and  on  the  other  arise  the  fevered  expression  of  high- 
wrought  passion  ;  and  in  the  eyes  resting  upon  the  innocent 
girl,  he  observed,  with  agony  that  chilled  his  blood,  that 
his  brother  was  not'  in  mastery  of  his  reason. 

"  I  have  no  room  in  my  heart  for  another  than  my  father, 
now."  As  Jcauie  spoke,  she  gave  an  appealing  look  to 


365 

Ralph,  to  cease  his  importunate  request,  then  motioned  to 
Mr.  Hamlin  to  approach  her.     He  obeyed. 

"  One  thing  I  promise,"  said  she,  "to  rely  in  all  things 
upon  the  counsel  of  my  guide." 

"  You  do  well,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  fond  look. 

"  Her  happiness  shall  be  my  study,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  in 
a  low  voice. 

"  Remember  that,"  said  Ralph,  hi  the  ear  of  Philip,  as  he 
went  hastily  from  the  room. 

The  excitement  of  the  day  had  been  great  to  Jeanie. 
Her  face  and  agitation  evinced  it.  Concealing  her  eyes,  she 
hid  from  her  father's  view,  and  wept  silently. 

Mr.  Hamlin  whispered,  "  Will  you  not  go  and  rest — the 
evening  has  fir  advanced.  Arthur  and  I  will  remain.  You 
must  sleep  a  part  of  the  night."  She  refused. 

The  long  silent  hours  fled  in  the  apartment  of  the  invalid, 
where  watched  his  three  devoted  nurses.  Arthur  finally 
sunk  on  a  couch,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  room.  A  dun  light 
burned,  sending  its  pale  rays  over  the  sick  man. 

The  night  air  came  through  an  unclosed  lattice,  that  the 
sufferer  might  breathe  more  freely.  Jeanie  often  sat  down 
by  it,  for  a  refreshing  draught  from  without — her  eyes  upon 
the  stars,  above  which  she  pictured  her  father's  future  home. 
Then  came  pensive  thoughts  of  her  mother,  now  perhaps  ha 
a  scene  of  gaiety,  while  she  harbored  unkind  thoughts  of 
her  for  the  vocation  she  had  chosen.  With  a  rush  of  feeling, 
came  the  remembrance  of  Ralph's  inconsiderate  and  rash  re 
quest — feeling  silenced  and  rebuked  by  a  moan  and  cough 
from  the  sick  bed,  she  went  forward.  Mr.  Hamlin  was 
dozing  lightly  in  his  chair.  Jeanie  was  obliged  to  pass  him, 
and  in  the  darkness  tripped  in  his  robe.  He  roused  and 
caught  her.  He  saw  how  wearied  she  was. 

"  Jeanie,  you  must  go  to  bed,"  said  he,  decidedly. 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  This  shawl  is  light,"  folding  it  around  her,  "  and  you 


366  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR 

e  cold — shivering.  I  will  not  listen  to  a  refusal.  Go  to 
bed.  Can  you  not  trust  me  to  take  care  of  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  by  ttie  window  too  long."  Jeanie 
shook  as  in  a  chill. 

The  little  cold  hands  were  rubbed,  and  put  within  the 
woollen  folds.  "  I  must  nurse  you,  I  see,"  said  he,  "  drink 
this,"  handing  her  a  cordial,  "  and  go  to  your  room.  I  will 
call  you,"  he  whispered,  "  should  he  be  worse." 

Ealph  came  to  the  door  at  the  moment,  and  closed  it 
hastily. 

But  sleep  was  vainly  courted,  for  had  she  possessed  the 
power  to  compose  her  nerves,  the  noise  of  revelry  in  an  ad 
joining  room,  would  have  driven  slumber  from  her  pillow. 

She  heard  the  shuffling  of  cards,  the  rattling  of  counters 
and  dice,  the  ringing  of  metal,  and  the  popping  of  corks, 
amidst  shouts  of  carousal  and  drunkenness.  It  was  a  fearful 
contrast  to  the  scene  she  had  left.  Two  hours  passed,  when 
she  rose  to  return,  so  terrible  seemed  to  her  the  oaths  and 
merriment  of  the  gamblers. 

Wrapped  in  a  cloak,  she  glided  out,  quickening  her  foot 
steps  as  she  heard  a  door  open,  and  a  step  behind  her.  She 
had  to  pass  through  a  hall  ;  nearer  came  reeling  footsteps 
She  dared  not  look  around  her,  but  hastened  tremblingly 
forward,  feeling  that  she  was  pursued. 

Suddenly  her  form  was  held  motionless.  With  a  thrill  of 
horror,  she  met  the  blood-shot  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face,  and 
recognized  the  voice  that  with  thick  articulation,  hurriedly 
uttered  words  of  daring  import. 

"  Ralph  !  Ralph  !  can  this  be  you  ?" 

The  offender  was  repulsed,  when  she  fled  hastily.  Terri 
fied  and  faint  she  sunk  upon  a  sofa.  The  reeling  step 
seemed  coming  towards  the  door  ;  Mr.  Hamlin  approached, 
as  if  to  open  it,  when  Jeanie  stood  before  it,  saying,  "  do 
not  "— 

"  You  have  been  alarmed — I  must." 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  367 

, 
"  I  beg,  Mr.  Hamlin,  do  not  for  my  sake  !" 

"  Who  has  terrified  you  1"  he  spoke  with  anger  and 
solicitude. 

"  I  cannot  say — he  will  go  away." 

"  Jeanie,  will  you  let  me  pass  out  ?"  Her  slight  frame 
stood  against  ~  the  door,  her  pleading  eyes  and  vqice  upon 
the  speaker.  The  steps  in  the  hall  grew  fainter. 

"  This  is  useless.  I  know  your  objection,  yet  I  cannot  be 
thwarted  or  restrained.  I  must  turn  that  bolt." 

Jeanie  complied  weeping.  Mr.  Hamlin  went  into  the 
hall,  and  when  he  returned,  she  was  by  her  father's  pillow. 
Never  had  her  heart  beat  with  such  fearful  anguish.  He 
whom  she  loved  with  all  his  faults,  was  now  a  being  fearful 
to  think  of.  Never,  never  could  she  listen  to  him  again. 
In  the  silent  watches  of  the  night,  she  gave  him  up. 
Morning  dawned,  the  invalid  was  little  changed.  The 
attendants  had  not  left  their  post.  Jeanie  looked  as  if 
years  of  suffering  had  done  their  work. 

The  nurse  and  Arthur,  now  took  the  place  of  Mr.  Hamlin 
and  Jeanie,  when  she  went  to  her  own  room,  to  write  to 
absent  friends.  While  there  she  received  a  note  from  Mr. 
Hamlin,  in  which,  he  requested  to  see  her. 

She  granted  the  favor.  As  she  entered  a  room  adjoining, 
he  carefully  closed  each  door,  and  with  a  cautious  voice, 
and  stern  face,  said  : 

"  Jeanie,  was  it  Ralph  you  met  last  night  in  the  hall  ?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Hamlin — it  was  dark — " 

"  Jeanie  !  I  must  know,  for  his  sake,  do  not  screen  him — 
if  you  would  for  your  own." 

"  Do  not  speak  so  harshly." 

Mr.  Hamlin  did  not  reply,  but  took  her  hand,  and  held 
it  tightly — there  was  no  tenderness  in  the  act — but  he 
seemed  as  if  wrought  by  some  frenzied  feeling,  to  treat  her 
as  if  she  was  alike  guilty  with  Ralph. 

"  I  have  just  returned  from  his  room  ;  and  I  must  know 


368  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

from  whence  he  came  when  he  met  you  ;  will  you  tell  me  the 
truth,  and  not  disguise  it  ?" 

"  Mr.  Hamlin,  you  will  kill  me  by  these  questions — why 
must  you  know  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  if  you  know  he  was  gambling 
with  the  rioters  ;  and  from  that  room  came  forth,  to  ill 
treat  you,  I  demand  of  you  as  my  right,  the  intelli 
gence." 

"Is  it  not  enough  that  my  father  is  dying — and  my 
mother  absent  from  him  ;  and  that  I  must  resign  forever 
one  I  love,  but  that  you  *must  try  to  extort  from  me 
evidence  that  may  ruin  him.?" 

"  Jeanie — he  had  money  in  trust — it  is  gone.  I  would 
know  if  he  has  gambled  it  away  :  was  he  one  of  the  gang, 
that  I  find  last  night  disturbed  you  ?" 

"  Mr.  Hamlin,  I  will  not  answer  you — "  Jeanie's  tears 
now  streamed  through  her  fingers. 

-"  Forgive  me — we  have  all  been  outraged,  but  I  must 
not  forget  your  affliction,  in  the  weakness  you  exhibit 
towards  one  so  unprincipled." 

"  Do  you  not  love  him  ?" 

The  question  so  feelingly  asked,  brought  tears  to  the  eyes 
of  the  harsh  judging  man,  as  he  sometimes  seemed.  "  For 
what  do  you  suppose,  I  wish  to  ferret  out  such  dishonorable 
proceedings  ?  would  I  not,  think  you,  while  a  drop  of  his 
blood  runs  in  my  veins,  save  him  from  disgrace — and  think 
you  Jeanie,"  the  harsh  voice  softened,  "  that  one  you  love  I 
would  not  succor  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  a  sad  smile  evinced  Jeanie's  gratitude. 
"  Do  you  think  papa  can  live  a  day  longer  ?" 

"  I  trust  so — he  has  been  talking  incoherently  of  your 
mother.  Do  you  know  where  she  is  to  be,  to-night  ?" 

Jeanie  shuddered  as  she  said  :  "  She  was  intending  to  go 
to  a  masked  ball.  I  have  to-day  written  to  her,  and  told 
her,  I  should  remain  with  papa  while  he  lived." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  3G9 

"  I  fear  you  will  not  be  able  to  endure  to  the  end — unless 

i       » 
you  can  sleep.  * 

"  I  feel  to-day  as  if.  I  would  gladly  lay  down  my  aching 
head  beside  him." 

As  Jeanie  spoke,  she  clasped  her  hands  across  her  breast, 
and  with  calmness  looked  forth  from  the  window.  It  was 
raining — the  scene  without  Deemed  like  that  within — 
cheerless  and  gloomy.  "  If  I  had,"  thought  Jeanie,  "  but  a 
sympathizing  mother  now."  » 

She  turned,  and  met  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Hamlin.  In  a  voice 
changed  as  if  'addressing  a  little  child,  he  said  :  "  I  hope 
you  do  not  forget  that  it  is  a  duty  to  be  cheerful." 

"You  do  not  know  the  half  of  what  I  suffer." 

"  There  is  one  sorrow,  I  know,  that  is  harder  than  all  else 
for  you  to  bear — because  it  seemeth  not  to  come  among  the 
providences  of  God  ;  but  ought  we  not  to  trust  Him  in  the 
inscrutable  paths  in  which  He  leads  us — in  those  '  past 
finding  out,'  as  well  as  in  afflictions  in  which  we  can  see  His 
Almighty  hand  ?" 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  bear  and  suffer  resignedly  ;  but  oh  ! 
I  had  hoped  for  him  more  fondly  than  this  poor  heart 
knew — pray  for  me  that  God  will  bring  light  out  of  this 
terrible  darkness." 

"  Was  he  so  very  dear  ?"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  taking  the 
hand  that  lay  so  confidingly  on  his  arm. 

The  lifted  eyes  dropped  suddenly,  and  over  the  young 
cheek  came  a  painful  glow.  "  Did  I  not  peril  my  life  for 
him,  without  shame  or  timidity — that  I  might  save  hirn  from 
that  deadly  steel  ? — oh  1  cruel  is  now  the  conviction  that  I 
did  love  him." 

"  Do  not  say  did,  Jeanie — it  is  not  necessary  to  screen 
him  ?" 

"  Would  I  deceive  you  ?" 

"  Forgive  me — could  he  not  appreciate  such  love  !  I  aslc 
16* 


370  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

no  testimony  from  you  of  his  guilt.  If  in  this  you  are 
afflicted,  I  am  no  surgeon  to  heal  the  wound  ;  and  to  him,  I 
must  only  show  myself  a  censor.  Suppose  I  send  him  to  an 
other  continent — will  you  liate  me  for  the  act  ?  Jeanie,"  he 
resumed,  "  is  not  this  weakness  ?  I  must  have  intelligence — 
if  it  cannot  -be  obtained  from  you."  She  made  no  reply. 
'  After  a  pause,  he  said  :  "  I  will  send  Arthur  to  you,  I  must 
go  to  your  father." 

+  Mr.  Hamlin  left  Jeanie,  when  a  note  was  handed  her, 
bearing  the  superscription  of  Ralph.  A  feeling  of  faiutuess 
seized  her,  while  she  read  : 

"Mr  OWN  DARLING: 

"  I  am  in  the  depths  of  misery ;  and  frantic  with  my  fears,  lest  I  was 
rude  to  you  last  night.  Oh !  did  you  but  know  your  coldness  drove 
me  from  you,  you  would  forgive  me. 

R.  L." 

Jeanie  returned  the  following . 

"  One  who  could  not  respect  the  situation  of  a  dying  parent — the 
sorrow  of  his  afflicted  child,  or  his  own  reputation  enough,  not  to  dis 
grace  himself  and  her,  is  henceforth  nothing  to  me. 

J.  M." 

Ralph  Larkfield  received  the  reply,  and  was  fully  conscious 
of  his  conduct  the  previous  night.  Maddened,  he  went  imme 
diately  to  the  parlor,  where  he  found  her  weeping.  His  face 
look'ed  haggard  and  pale.  In  tones  low  and  husky,  he  said, 
while  attempting  to  seek  the  hidden  face  : 

"  I  have  come  to  plead  for  myself.  Cannot  you  overlook 
my  unintentional  offence  ;  but  for  Philip's  note,  I  had  not 
been  aware  of  it." 

"  I  have  no  time  or  inclination  to  talk  to  you,"  said 
Jeanie  coldly,  "  that  you  were  not  aware  of  your  conduct,  is 
enough  ;  I  am  going  when  Arthur  comes,  to  papa." 

"  Will  you  not  go  with  me  ?" 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  371 

With  a  slight  shiver,  Jeanie  recoiled  from  the  proffered 
arm,  while  she  said  :  "  No,  no,  leave  me." 

"  You  wish  to  meet  Philip."  The  eyes  of  Ralph  gleamed 
with  rage  and  jealousy.  "  You  shall  not  go  to  him.  The 
act  that  publicly  exposed  your  love,  either  bound  you  to  me 
for  life  ;  or  disgraced  you — yes,  Jeanie,  there  is  but  one 
alternative  ;  a  marriage  with  me,  or  the  sneers  of  the  public. 
Forget  not  you  are  the  daughter  of  one  -who  bears  no 
good  name.  Scornfully  as  you  treat  me,  you  do  not  perhaps 
know  that  Arthur  has  been  discarded  by  Mary  Middleton, 
rather  than  suffer  an  alliance  with  the  spotless  Jeanie  Miller. 
Marry  me,  and  that  name  is  lost  in  one  never  stained  with 
dishonor." 

Arthur  Miller  entered,  hearing  only  the  few  last  words 
of  the  speaker.  With  indignation  he  moved  aside  the  form 
of  Ralph  from  his  horror-stricken  sister. 

"  Who  saved  your  name  from  dishonor  ?"  said  he.  "  t)id 
not  he  " — pointing  to  the  door — "  whom  you  have  insulted 
on  his  death-bed,  by  your  untimely  proffers  of  marriage  to 
his  child  ?  Go  now,  if  you  are  satisfied  (thinking  that 
Ralph  alluded  to  her  mother)  with  plunging  another  dag 
ger  in  the  breast  of  Jeanie.  Come,  dear  one,  we  must  go 
within." 

New  light  was  now  thrown  upon  Arthur's  situation  to  the 
mind  of  his  sister.  His  silence,  his  reserve  respecting  the 
dissolution  of  his  engagement,  of  which  he  had  briefly  told 
her,  was  now  explained.  Rumor  had  brought  the  truth  to 
Ralph,  and  cruelly  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  had  it  been  imparted 
to  her. 

She  had  shed  no  tear  since  hearing  his  last  painful  words, 
but  like  leaden  bullets,  each  had  entered  her  soul.  Deeply 
agitated,  she  appeared  with  Arthur  by  her  father's  bedside. 

For  two  hours  they  watched  silently  the  fluctuating  breath 
of  their  patient,  doing  for  him  what  little  could  be  done, 
while  he  smiled  peacefully  his  thanks.  Life  was  now  fast 


THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

ebbing  ;  the  physicians  predicted  that  he  could  not  survive 
another  night.  Breathlessly  Arthur  and  Jeaiiie  listened  to 
the  announcement. 

"  Has  he  expressed  any  wish  since  I  was  out  ?"  said 
Jeanie,  taking  her  brother  aside. 

"  Only  to  see  your  mother." 

"  Will  you  not  go  for  her,  Arthur  ?  Oh  !  if  she  knew 
that  he  was  really  dying  !"  The  brother  bowed  his  head  as 
if  struggling  with  conflicting  thoughts. 

"Jeanie,  for  you  I  will — for  no  other  on  earth  would -I 
^seek  Mrs.  Miller." 

Ere  a  half  hour  had  passed  the  son  and  step-mother  met  ; 
for  the  first  time  since  his  father's  separation  from  her. 
We  pass  over  an  introduction  and  meeting,  causing 
embarrassment  and  emotion.  The  boy  no  longer  reproached 
his  listener  with  his  candid  eyes,  and  truthful  tongue  ; 
but  with  frank  and  fearless  brow,  with  tones  fervid  and 
deep,  the  man  of  dignified  aspect  and  bearing,  asked  of  Mrs. 
Miller  the  second  favor  of  his  life. 

"  Madam,  when  we  parted,"  he  said,  "  you  intimated  that 
the  hour  would  come  when  it  might  lie  in  your  power  to  do 
me  a  kindness,  when  I  would  not  scorn  it.  Do  you  remem 
ber  the  time  ?" 

With  agitation,  and  remorseful  feelings  never  stifled,  Mrs. 
Miller  replied  :  "  Arthur,  did  you  not  forfeit  that  right  ?" 

"You  asked  my  friendship  for  'Jeanie's  sake' — for  her 
sake  now  I  offer  the  hand  I  then  refused  you,  and  pro 
tection  to  my  father's  dying  bed.  Do  you  deny  his  request, 
and  that  of  his  son  and  daughter  ?" 

"  I  cannot  forget  that  you  spurned  the  ring — yet  I  might 
not  have  declined  a  petition  requiring  less  humiliation  on  my 
part." 

"  There  could  have  been  none  proffered  causing  me  as 
much.  For  Jeanie's  sake,  we  last  met — for  Jeanie's  sake  I 
have  done  a  thing  at  which  my  soul  has  revolted — but  for 


THROUGH  THE  WOOD.  373 

her,  not  even  for  her,  would  I,  excepting  at  the  bed  of  death, 
have  united  you  to  my  father." 

As  the  boy  parted  with  his  step-mother,  so  parted  the 
man. 

The  return  of  Arthur  brought  a  cry  of  lamentation  from 
Jeanie's  lips.  It  reached  the  ear  of  her  parent.  He  had 
only  seen  her  calm  and  cheerful. 

To  Mr.  Hamlin,  he  said  :  "  Tell  Jeanie,  '  Blessed  are  they 
that  mourn,  for  they  shall  be  comforted ' — that  I  but  go  to 
the  '  house  of  my  Father '  ;  let  her  come  to  me." 

Jeanie  knelt  by  the  bed. 

"  Why  do  you  weep  ?" 

"  I  will  not,  papa." 

"  I  leave  you,  my  lamb,  in  the  fold  of  the  Great  Shepherd. 
Before  the  rising  of  another  sun  I  shall  be  gone,  but  will 
awake  in  the  beams  of  One  all  glorious."  Apparently  wan 
dering,  he  seemed  then  to  identify  his  child  with  his  wife. 
"  Come  nearer,  Elinor,"  he  murmured,  "  it  was  a  cruel  mar 
riage — you  did  not  love  me." 

The  hour  of  ten  came — the  patient  still  lingered,  and 
there  seemed  a  probability  of  his  existence  until  morning. 
Jeanie  was  grieved  that  Mr.  Hamlin  was  absent,  yet  believed 
he  was  detained  by  some  imperative  cause.  She  feared 
something  terrible  had  happened  to  Ralph.  Though  his  phy 
sicians,  nurses,  and  children  were  about  his  bed,  the  sick 
man's  eyes  wandered  often  towards  the  door  ;  all  knew  he 
missed  his  constant  friend.  "  Do  not  call  him,"  he  whis 
pered,  "  he  is  exhausted.  I  have  given  him  his  last  charge  " 
— his  eye  rested  upon  Jeanie — "  Where  is  Ralph  ?" 

"  He  has  been  summoned,"  said  the  daughter,  trembling 
lest  he  might,  if  he  came,  commit  some  improper  act.  Thus, 
with  hushed  sounds,  with  pale  lips  bending  over  the  depart 
ing  sufferer,  the  moments  passed  in  the  death-chamber. 


374  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THAT  night  Mrs.  Miller  was  at  her  toilette,  dressing  for 
a  fancy  ball.  Since  her  daughter's  rebellious  course, 
as  she  termed  Jeanie's  return  to  her  father,  she  had  more 
bitterly  steeled  her  heart  against  him,  and  resolved  to  show 
the  world  her  indifference  .to  his  situation,  and  her  indigna 
tion  against  her  daughter.  She  had  never  wholly  credited 
the  tale  of  his  critical  illness,  believing  it  was  invented  to 
lure  Jeanie  from  her. 

Enraged  that  her  love  for  Philip  Hamlin  should  have  been 
contemptuously  slighted,  she  determined  to  brave  his  opinion 
of  her  course,  and  in  the  fashionable  world  to  appear  more 
than  ever  conspicuous.  Without  one  feeling  of  desire  to 
attend  the  great  fete  contemplated,  she  resolved  to  be  pres 
ent  and  sustain  her  character  with  brilliant  effect,  that  she 
might  not  only  attract  the  admiration  of  those  present,  but 
that  the  tongue  of  rumor  and  the  public  prints  should 
applaud  her.  Seated  before  a  glass  for  the  arrangement  of 
her  hair,  in  dishabille,  she  indolently  awaits  attendance. 

"  Why  you  look  so  solemfied,  Missis  ?  I  make  you  so 
buful  if  you  throw  de  spression  inter  your  face.  De  har  hab 
oncommon  sympaty  wid  de  feelin's.  Har  be  bery  sympa- 
tetic,  Missis." 

"Be  quiet."  Mrs.  Miller  tossed  her  head  impatiently, 
causing  a  downfall  of  the  luxuriant  rolls  which  Zaidee  had 
wreathed  so  skillfully. 

"  Dar,  Missis  !  I  neber  stay  your  har,  kase  you  no  car — • 
you  tink  'bout  dat  Miss  Jinny,  and  dat  inconsiderable  ole 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  375 

man,  what  ain't  no  'count,  and  'bout  departin'  dese  coasts. 
When  I  dress  your  bar  las?  summer,  you  shake  your  head, 
and  laff  so  ;  now  you  no  car  if  I  put  cotton  bowl  in  it.  How 
comical  white  folks  be,  che  !  che  !" 

The  lady's  hair  dressed,  Zaidee  became  extatic  over  "  de 
shinin'  robe  tail  ;"  then  running  from  that  to  other  glittering 
objects,  her  excitement  reached  a  crisis  over  a  pair  of  gay 
sandals,  taking,  as  she  declared,  all  "  de  brains  nigger  eber 
had."  Mrs.  Miller  was  arrayed,  and  well  had  the  gabbling 
Zaidee  performed  her  task. 

The  trembling  buds  that  lay  on  her  bosom,  were  each 
gemmules  of  superb  brilliancy,  corresponding  with  the  gem- 
bossed  tiara,  which  shone  on  her  brow  like  a  diadem.  She 
wore  a  mask,  also  a  starred  veil  of  silk. 

It  had  been  well  for  the  happiness  of  the  gay  woman  had 
she  worn  no  deeper,  blacker  mask,  covering  the  wretchedness 
within  the  veil — no  poisoned  band  beneath  the  glittering 
crown,  piercing  her  brain,  causing  her  to  sicken,  and  loathe 
her  detested  life. 

At  the  hour  of  ten  she  stepped  into  her  carriage  in  the 
guise  of  a  Circassian.  At  the  same  period  her  husband  par 
took  of  the  sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper.  Both  were 
winging  for  a  court — the  one  where  a  brilliant  goddess  holds 
her  revels,  marshalling  her  followers  from  every  clime  and 
land,  in  array  variegated  as  painted  insects  float  through 
skies  of  tropic  splendor;  where  music  sweet  as  Orpheus'  band 
is  making  melody — where  voluptuaries  play  the  Bacchanal, 
Apollo  tunes  his  lyre,  and  Cupid  whets  his  arrows,  to  make 
sure  his  victories.  The  sceptre,  diadem,  and  laurel-crown, 
are  the  gew-gaws  of  this  great  dramatic  court,  and  wine  of 
Falernian  sweetness,  the  inspirer  of  the  fool's  mirth  who 
drinks  deeply  from  its  ruby  chalice. 

The  other  is  pluming  for  a  sky  of  never-waning  splendor, 
for  a  seat  around  the  rainbow-girdled  throne,  even  that  of 
the  great  Eternal.  "  White  raiment,"  and  "  crowns  of  gold  " 


376  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

adorn  its  elders.  The  music  is  not  of  earthly  spheres,  but 
the  lightnings  and  thundering  of  spirit-voices,  the  illumina 
tion  lamps  of  fire,  which  are  the  "  seven  spirits  of  God,' 
where  they  rest  not  day  or  night  in  their  seraphic  song  of 
praise  to  Him  who  "  was  and  is  to  come."  The  reward  of 
the  faithful  servant  is  not  to  be  the  homage  of  worldly  flat 
terers,  but  such  as  the  King  of  the  great  feast  giveth  to  the 
followers  of  the  Lamb — to  him  who  overcometh  and  keepeth 
His  works  unto  the  end — even  the  morning  star. 

The  night  was  passing  into  morning.  The  revellers 
heeded  it  not.  Day  was,  within  their  atmosphere,  made 
brilliant  by  a  thousand  suns.  Wearied  with  a  scene  that 
cured  no  heart-ache,  Elinor  Miller  escaped  from  her  cavalier 
and  passed  alone  down  a  stair-case  lined  on  each  side  with 
orange  trees,  laden  with  their  golden  balls,  and  from  thence 
to  an  outer  door  leading  to  a  piazza,  extending  around  the 
hall  of  festivity.  The  stars  shone  bright  and  clear  through 
the  pillars  loaded  with  flowery  wreaths,  till  art  seemed  lost 
in  the  luxuriance  of  nature.  Here,  were  turbancd  slaves 
with  the  fan  and  sparkling  goblet,  tendering  wine  and 
luscious  fruits.  Steps  lined  with  plants,  led  to  a  garden 
below,  whence  on  the  night  air,  arose  powerfully  the  fra 
grance  of  the  verbena  and  jasmine. 

Mrs.  Miller  seated  herself  in  an  arbor,  to  indulge  in 
quietude  her  miserable  reflections.  In  every  view,  she 
seemed  to  see  a  hearse  and  plumes,  in  every  strain  of  music 
to  hear  a  funeral  knell.  As  in  a  catalogue  came  reproach 
ing  her,  each  kind  act  of  her  dying  husband — then  in 
burning  characters,  on  another  page,  she  read  her  scornful 
reception  of  his  bounty,  when  she  had  trodden  to  the 
very  dust  the  offerings  of  his  love.  Like  scorpion  stings 
they  pierced  her  conscience,  now  that  for  her  there  was  no 
redemption  of  the  past. 

But  in  view  of  his  death,  there  arose  hopes  silvering  the 
clouds,  that  blackened  her  soul.  She  would  then  be  free. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  377 

Philip   Hamlin   would   appreciate,    and   wed  her.      While 
absorbed,  a  note  was  handed  her. 


"  Will  you  meet  me  at  the  outer  gate  ? 


p.  H.' 


The  character  of  the  scene  in  which  she  mingled,  was 
such,  that  a  message  of  mysterious  import  occasioned  no 
surprise  ;  she  knew  that  here  intrigue  of  every  nature  was 
practised,  and  that  concealment  was  the  charm  that  lent 
zest  to  its  enjoyment. 

But  as  soon  would  she  have  expected  any  marvellous 
inconsistency,  as  that  the  author  of  this  communication, 
would  have  thus  sought  to  meet  her.  With  gratified  pride 
she  passed  onward,  repulsing  each  admirer  who  offered  to 
accompany  her,  and  hastened  to  greet  Mr.  Hamlin.  Undis 
guised,  he  met,  and  hurried  her  silently  towards  a  carriage. 
She  attempted  to  speak,  to  demand  explanation  ;  but  her 
voice  was  hushed  with  a  low  emphatic  appeal  to  "trust" 
him,  asking  no  questions.  Trembling  with  excitement,  the 
infatuated  woman  was  led,  she  cared  not  whither — for  what 
had  she  to  leave  ?  was  she  not,  her  heart  whispered,  with 
him  she  idolized  ?  Her  husband  might  be  dead,  she  was  to 
be  the  honored  wife  of  one  who  had  long  secretly  adored 
her.  Delicious  to  her  passionate,  wayward  nature,  was  the 
romance  of  the  elopement.  They  had  reached  the  outer 
court.  With  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  brilliant  being  beside 
him,  he  said  in  a  stifled  voice  :  "  will  you  go  with  me,  or 
are  you  too  happy  here  ?" 

"  Most  miserable." 

"  Then  come." 

"  On  what  errand  ?" 

"  Hasten,  we  have  no  time  to  waste." 

Mrs.  Miller  followed,  and  without  elucidation,  to  the 
carriage,  her  heart  asking,  "  why  is  he  still  so  cold,  so  stern, 
so  inexplicable  ?" 


378  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

She  could  only  console  herself  in  the  words  : 

"  Trust — trust,  asking  no  questions." 

She  sat  by  him,  excited  and  radiant,  he  looking  upon  her 
in  the  starlight — with  his  eyes,  fixed  upon  her  gold  and 
crimson  dress,  her  glittering  brow — contrasting  her  with 
her  pale,  perhaps  ere  now,  shrouded  husband. 

"  Why  do  you  bear  me  away,  like  an  enchanter,  asking 
no  query  of  my  will  or  heart  ?" 

"  I  have  no  time,  I  am  on  an  errand  rash,  but  not  pur 
poseless.  Hush  !  we  are  near  the  end  of  our  drive.  When 
you  alight,  conceal  yourself  and  fellow  me  silently." 

"  I  am  insane  ;  for  the  first  time,  lost  to  all  sense  of  deco 
rum — never,  never  did- 1  so  abandon  myself  to  the  guidance 
of  another.  Do  you  appreciate  the  regard  that  sways 
me?" 

"  Be  cabn — and  say  nothing.  You  will  not  repent  the 
change." 

Not  until  seated  in  a  private  saloon  of  the  hotel  could 
she  obtain  one  explanatory  word  :  then  with  solemnity, 
Mr.  Hamlin  said  : 

"  I  have  brought  you  from  a  scene  of  folly,  to  the  death 
bed  of  the  righteous." 

With  a  faint  shriek,  Mrs.  Miller  attempted  her  escape. 

"  Be  calm,  Elinor,"  Mr.  Hamlin  held  her  firmly.  "  You 
will  not  regret  the  step  :  come  to  him,  it  is  his  last  request — 
his  last  hope — on  your  knees,  accept  his  blessing — the  for 
giveness  of  one  you  have  so  wronged.  It  will  soothe  his 
passage  to  eternity,  and  ever  comfort  your  beloved  child." 

"  I  have  no  place  there — no  right  to  mercy  or  forgive 
ness — I  cannot  see  him  die — my  neglected,  insulted  hus 
band  1" 

"  You  must,  for  his  sake,  for  poor  Jeanie's." 

"  She  hates  me  !  they  all  hate  me  !  and  you,  when  have 
you  ever  so  fervently  despised  me,  as  to-night  ?" 

"  No — before  God,  I  do  not  blame  you  for  this — I  drew 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  379 

you  by  an  effort  of  will.  I  knew  that  you  could  not  resist 
me,  but  I  would  not  use  the  power  I  possess  for  purposes 
of  evil.  Again  I  bid  you  follow  me.  You  cantfot  refuse." 

"  I  can  never  forgive  you — who  else  could  have  so  deluded 
mel" 

"  Think  not  of  me — I  am  but  his  messenger.  The  room 
is  dark,  glide  in  softly,  if  he  is  living,  he  will  know  you." 

"  Oh,  this  dress  1" 

"  He  will  not  regard  it,  hide  its  tinsel." 

"  My  will  rebels." 

"  Would  you,"  said  he  earnestly,  "  even  darken  to  him 
the  valley  of  death  ?  Follow  me — you  must."  After  longer 
persuasion  Mrs.  Miller  consented. 

With  hushed  tread,  so  light,  it  roused  not  the  midnight 
watchers,  who  with  parted  lips,  and  bent  forms  there  sat ; 
the  wife  and  friend,  in  the  darkness  approached  the  couch 
of  the  dying.  Mr.  Miller  yet  breathed,  and  retaining  his 
reason  occasionally  spoke,  asking  each  one  about  his  bed  to 
come  nearer,  while  he  talked  to  them  as  if  already  at  the 
gate  of  heaven.  He  was  the  first  to  see  Mr.  Hamlin,  and 
smiled  a  welcome,  while  he  murmured,  "  You  are  not  too 
late." 

"  No,  my  dear  friend :"  leaning  forward,  the  former 
whispered,  "  can  you  see  your  wife  and  be  calm  ?"  By  a 
wave  of  his  hand,  all  retired  from  the  bedside,  but  she  who 
in  her  cloak  stood  concealed  within  the  folds  of  a  curtain. 

A  deep  agitated  sigh  came  as  if  from  one  breath,  while 
the  form  sunk,  the  face  still  hid,  by  the  side  of  the  bed. 

With  eyes  that  suddenly  gleamed,  as  if  the  expiring  lamp 
within  had  received  new  oil,  Mr.  Miller  ejaculated  : 

"  Bless  the  Lord,  he  has  granted  my  -prayer  !  Come 
near  me,  Elinor,  this  is  happiness — you  are  all  here  now." 
Low  sobs  burst  from  the  breast  of  Jeanie,  when  by  her 
mother's  side,  she  knelt. 

"  It  is  mamma  I  oh,  comfort  her  before  you  die." 


380  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

The  husband  raised  his  hand  ;  it  fell  upon  the  head  of 
"his  wife.  He  seemed  speechless,  but  sensible.  He  moved 
his  fingers  'in  her  hair,  and  laid  them  on  her  brow.  The 
veil  had  partially  fallen,  revealing  the  jewels  which 
gleamed  in  the  dim  light.  Jeanie  gently  pushed  them 
aside. 

"  Look  up,  Elinor — do  not  fear  to  see  me,  we.are  all  peaceful, 
and  loving  now."  The  eyes  dilating  with  fearful  brilliancy, 
were  opened  upon  those  of  her  dying  husband.  He  spoke 
audibly.  "  It  is  precious  to  know  you  are  all  around  me, 
even  thee,  my  lost  bride  !  0  God  !  that  I  might  live  to 
tell  thee  all  my  heart  !" 

"  Spare  me  !"  moaned  the  crushed  wife. 

"Bless  thee,  rather,  ill  fated  girl!  yours  was  a  cruel 
portion,  united  to  one  you  could  not  love.  But  on  the 
confines  of  another  world,  I  will  not  speak  of  earthly  ties 
sundered  and  broken — I  would  not  rend  jour  heart  by 
recounting  the  sufferings  I  have  no  breath  to  tell — but 
in  one  last  embrace  enfold  you  all,  trusting  that  in  that 
blessed  land,  where  there  is  '  no  marrying,  or  giving  in 
marriage,'  that  there,  as  God's  children,  we  shall  meet 
around  His  throne.  To  Him,  dear  Elinor,  I  would  commend 
you  with  my  other  beloved  ones,  praying  that  in  His  sight 
you  may  be  preserved  pure  and  blameless,  to  await  His 
coming,  when  with  holy  angels  He  shall  gather  together 
His  elect." 

Becoming  exhausted,  wine  was  offered  him. 

"  Will  you  give  it  to  me  ?"     His  look  was  upon  his  wife. 

Dropping  her  head,  she  said  : 

"  I  am  unworthy." 

"  There  is  '  n'one  good — no,  not  one.'  Leave  me  " — Mr. 
Miller  signified  that  he  would  be  left  alone  with  his  wife. 
The  cloaked  form  was  left  motionless  with  her  face  con 
cealed. 

"  Look   up,"  faintly   petitioned    the   almost    breathless 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  381 

sufferer.  "  I  would  comfort,  not  grieve  you.  The  hour 
will  come  when  you  will  think  I  would  not  have  made  you 
miserable.  You  will  not  ever  shun  my  memory."  Then 
laying  his  hand  gently  upon  the  gem-ringed  fingers,  he 
added,  "  another  may  make  you  happy,  but  let  me  implore 
you,  as  the  father  of  your  only  child,  not  to  wed  hastily. 
You  must  ere  this  feel  that  life  is  but  an  ephemera.  When 
you  lie  as  I  do,  the  waves  that  have  borne  you  onward  will 
seem  to  you,  but  few.  Would  that  I  could  know  that  the 
closing  one  of  yours,  would  cradle  you  peacefully  to  a  home 
of  rest !  Let  not,  Elinor,  the  breakers  dash  high  and  wild 
over  the  wreck  of  your  immortal  soul  !  You  will  not  look 
at  me,  and  I  cannot  see  the  sweet  face  I  once  loved  to  gaze 
upon  so  welL_^I  among  the  rest  cruelly  wronged  you  in  my 
adoration  of  its  beauty.  You  will  scorn  me  no  longer,  I 
could  no't  have  lived  with  you,  and  not  loved  you,  had  you 
been  less  cold— and  I  feel  now  that  I  did  but  my  duty  when 
I  gave  you  up.  Not  for  this,  would  I  crave  your  pardon, 
but  for  blindly  wedding  you.  Have  you  no  word  ?  I  seem 
to  have  lingered  for  this." 

"  No,  no,  not  one." 

"  Your  form  shakes  with  emotion — so  it  trembled  when  I 
left  you.  You  have  a  precious  charge  in  our  child.  Let 
her  afflicted  heart  find  peace  in  the  life  befitting  her  tastes  ; 
and  should  she  marry,  let  love  sanctify  the  union.  Put  your 
hand  once  on  my  forehead-— let  me  die  feeling  you  do  not 
*hate  me.  You  cannot  ?  Will  you  give  me  no  sign  of 
amity  ?  not  when  you  came  to  see  me  die  ?" 

Elinor  Miller's  face  and  form  sunk  lower  and  lower,  until 
but  the  rich  folds  of  her  hair  were  only  visible,  as  they  fell 
upon  the  pillow  of  the  dying. 

The  pale  fingers  of  her  husband  played  languidly  with  the 
tresses,  and  passed  over  the  throbbing  temples  of  the  pros 
trate  wife.  "  One  question " — the  tongue  faltered,  and 
geemed  almost  inaudible. 


o82  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Oh,  desist  1"  lowly  petitioned  the  wife.  "  Go  to  your 
angel  home,  and  leave  the  doomed,  the  scorned,  to  perish. 
I  am  not  worthy  to  kneel  at  your  feet — less  to  pollute  your 
brow  with  the  hand  I  gave  you  as  a  guerdon  of  my  faith. 
Spare  me  your  kind  words,  for  I  came  here  from  a  ball, 
hiding  my  dress — Oh  !  my  God,  not — not  to  see  you  die  ! — 
not  for  your  blessing,  but  as  the  final  act  in  the"  drama  of  my 
wicked  life.  I  would  have  fled,  I  cared  not  whither,  so  it 
were  with  him  I  loved."  The  hand  he  had  taken  was  moved 
as  with  a  shock. 

"  This  is  the  last  drop  of  wormwood,  and  I  can  drink  it. 
No — you  need  not  come  nearer — for  I  am  growing  cold — 
cold — call  them  all." 

Around  bis  bed  came  the  absent.  Looking  about  him, 
Mr.  Miller  said,  "  Where  is  Ralph  ?"  No  one  replied,  "  at 
the  masked  ball,"  yet  there  was  one  present  who  had  accom 
panied  and  left  him  there.  With  his  eyes  on  Jeanie,  he 
added  : 

"  Give  me  one  promise,  Elinor — let  M:.  Hamlin  direct  your 
judgment  regarding  her."  The  voice  grew  fainter — "  Come 
closer — each,  all  of  you — your  hr,r.a,  my  noble  boy  !  Philip 
— Jeanie — you  are  here  " — 

"  And  mamma,"  whispeiod  the  trembling  girl. 

The  hand  was  not  raise4v  ^cr  the  dim  eye  turned,  but  the 
pale  lips  murmured —  "I  Mass  and  forgive."  Rallying,  he 

intimated  that  he  wished  sung  : 

« 

"  Why  lam  .nt  the  Christian  dying?" 

Jeanie  commenced,  i'/  tones  scarcely  audible,  the  fourth 
stanza,  and  was  able  to  clearly  articulate  the  words  : 


"  '  Scenes  sei  apfiic,  high  and  glorious, 

Now  fo  biti  his  longer  stay  ; 
See  him  i  ^  o'er  death  victorious, 
Angelv  jcckon  him  away. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  383 

" '  Hark !  the  golden  harps  are  ringing, 

Sounds  unearthly  fill  his  ear  ; 
Milliofes  now  in  heaven  singing, 
Greet  his  joyful  entrance  there.' " 

The  prayer  for  the  dying  followed,  then  a  deep  hushed 
silence.  Slowly  the  long  thin  hands  were  raised — out 
stretched  as  if  in  one  loving  embrace.  The  death  dews 
beaded  the  pale  brow,  and  around  the  white  lips  settled  a 
blue  shadow.  The  dark  angel  had  winged  by  and  left  it 
there. 

Each  form,  save  one,  was  raised  from  its  bending  posture^ 
every  eye  but  hers  looked  intently  upon  the  dead  ;  she  had 
sunk,  crouching  further,  further  away,  hearing  nothing,  see 
ing  nothing,  after  the  appalling  whisper — "  he  is  gone  !" 

All  knew  that  her  voice  had  been  silent  in  the  hymn  and 
in  the  prayer,  but  none  that  the  wife  could  not  look  upon 
her  dead  husband,  until  she  fell  forward  senseless.  Her 
cloak  dropped  from  her  shoulders,  leaving  her  in  her  glitter 
ing  fringe  and  crimson,  with  her  jewelled  tiara,  and  her  gold 
broidered  sandals,  beside  his  corpse.  At  the  feet  of  him  she 
had  scorned  m  life,  she  was  now  stretched,  her  face  as  blood 
less. 


384  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

RALPH  had  returned  too  late  to  bid  farewell  to  his 
benefactor,  having  been  driven  by  the  violence  of 
his  passions  to  seek  revenge  upon  Jeanie  by  going  to  the 
ball.  During  a  brief  visit  to  his  room  that  night,  Mr. 
Hamlin  learned  that  after  his  return  he  had  gambled  away 
funds  entrusted  to  him  by  his  patron,  which  by  inheritance 
now  belonged  to  Jeanie.  As  her  guardian  he  deemed  it  his 
duty  to  seek  his  brother  and  demand  restitution.  It  was  a 
painful  task  in  this  hour  of  affliction. 

"  I  will  throw  every  bill  to  the  winds,"  said  the  enraged 
Ralph,  after  a  conference  with  the  latter.  "  This  sum 
belongs  to  me,  or  will  as  the  husband  of  Jeanie — and  I  tell 
you,"  muttering  an  oath,  "  I  will  marry  her,  with  or  without 
your  consent." 

With  resolute  energy  the  elder  brother  compelled  the 
delivery  of  the  contested  amount. 

"  Ralph,"  said  he,  "I  have  done  but  my  duty  to  a  dead 
man's  child,  but  now  it  remains  for  me  to  perform  a  sterner 
task.  I  bid  you  depart  immediately  for  a  voyage  to  the 
East  Indies,  on  some  business  in  which  I  will  employ  you$ 
services,  or  I  will  not  refund  the  amount  you  have  squan 
dered,  and  your  breach  of  trust  will  be  exposed  to  the  other 
executor  of  the  estate.  Will  you  go  ?" 

A  violent  argument  succeeded,  accompanied  by  high 
words  on  the  part  of  the  younger. 

Finally  calmed  by  the  decisive  bearing  of  his  brother, 
Ralph  Larkfield  replied  : 

"  And  you  will  pay  this,  if  I  comply  ?     I  loved  Jeanie, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  385 

the  angel,  but  I  needed  her  money.  I  may  as  well  go,  for 
I  suppose  there  is  an  end  forever  put  to  our  intercourse,, 
Yes — it  is  a  villainous  fact,  the  night  Mr.  Miller  died,  I 
was  spending  his  money — I  lost,  and  drank  to  drown  my 
sense  of  the  injustice — but  I  wish  this  was  all — but  it  is 
not — I  afterwards  forfeited  Jeauie's  respect,  in  a  manner 
she  will  never  forgive.  But  I  believe,"  Kalph's  voice 
changed,  "  that  I  am  not  ungrateful  to  you  both  for  your 
forbearance,  and  if  ever  I  am  another  man,  I  shall  owe  my 
salvation  to  you,  and  to  her,  who  is  no  more  fit  for  my  wife 
than  a  seraph.  Tell  her  so — I  shall  never  see  her  unless 
with  a  clearer  conscience  than  I  carry  away."  After  a  silence, 
Ralph  added  :  "  You  alone  are  worthy  of  her.  I  have 
defrauded  you  of  enough,  but  I  will  do  one  righteous  act — 
when  I  rid  her  of  my  presence.  Here  Philip — "  taking 
from  his  finger  a  ring  :  "  give  this  to  her — she  will  under 
stand  it,  and  tell  her  that  her  words  and  memory  shall  be 
sacred,  and  that  by  no  other  name  shall  I  ever  seek  to  call 
her,  than  that  of  sister." 

"  She  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  with  a  noble  motive." 

Turning  hastily  aside,  the  brother  replied  :  "  No,  keep 
the  token  ;  it  may  be  a  monitor  to  you.  I  appreciate  your 
words,  but  I  do  not  forget  that  you  have  inspired  the  first 
deep  love  of  the  gentle  heart  you  have  perhaps  broken. 
You  wrong  me  in  your  suspicions  of  my  double  purposes. 
Jeanie  Miller,  with  my  consent,  shall  never  marry  the  man 
to  whom  she  does  not  wholly  give  her  affections.  I  bid  you 
go  away,  to  save  you  from  temptation — a  long  voyage  may 
bring  you  to  reflection  and  steady  habits.  I  may  not  ^see 
you  again,  take  this  purse — you  will  find  other  instructions 
in  this  document — may  God  bless,  and  keep  you  !" 

The  brothers  parted,  the  elder  to  fulfill  his  duties  to  the 
deceased,  the  other  to  prepare  for  his  voyage. 

11 


38  o  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

After  Mr.  Hamlin  left  Jeanie,  she  opened  the  epistle  he 
gave  her,  and  read  the  following  : 

"  NEW  YORK,  Place. 

"  The  relatives  of  the  late  Mrs.  Peter  Castleman,  are  notified  that 

she  deceased,  Wednesday,  April ,  4  o'clock,  P.  M.,  after  a  brief 

illness,  occasioned,  it  is  thought,  by  the  supposed  destruction  of  some 
of  her  effects  by  fire.  The  articles  have  since  been  recovered,  and 
not  being  considered  worthy  of  transportation  or  preservation,  have 
been  given  to  the  indigent. 

SYLVESTER  CASTLEMAN." 
"  A.  MILLER,  Esq." 

It  was  Mr.  Miller's  request  that  he  should  be  buried  in 
his  native  town.  Deacon  Selden's  family  had  been  apprised 
of  the  event,  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  afflicted  friends. 

Mrs.  Miller  parted  with  her  child  looking  fearfully 
changed,  but  without  demonstration  of  grief,  and  when 
asked  if  she  was  satisfied  with  the  arrangements  made, 
replied  : 

"  Do  not  consult  me.  I  have  no  choice,  or  interest  in  the 
matter." 

"  Were  not  his  last  words  precious  to  you,  dear  mamma  ? 
was  it  not  consoling  to  be  reconciled  to  him  ?  Oh  !  tell  me 
this  before  we  part."  - 

"  Will  it  take  away  this  load  Jeanie  ?"  Mrs.  Miller 
clasped  her  breast.  "  I  could  almost  hate  him  that  caused 
me  to  see  him  die.  If  he  had  but  cursed,  instead  of  bless 
ing  me  !" 

"  You  will  not  always  suffer  so." 

"  Why  should  I  not,  did  he  not  suffer,  till  his  anguish 
killed  him  ?  I  know  it,  I  feel  it  now.  How  he  put  my 
hand  from  him — 

"  But  he  loved  and  blessed  you,  and  oh  1  with  his  last 
words  he  forgave  you.  Is  this  no  comfort  ?" 

Jeanie  fell  on  her  mother's  neck,  and  wept. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  387 

"  Jeanie  !  Jeanie  !"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  removing  her  child, 
with  a  motion  indicating  despair.  "  There  is  no  peace  for 
me  for  time  or  eternity.  Go,  and  leave  me — take  him  to 
his  home,  and  let  me  go  to  mine." 

"  Won't  you  go  with  us  ?  do — do  dear  mamma,  we  will 
make  you  happy.  We  cannot  mourn  for  papa,  and  it  will 
be  a  sweet  enjoyment  to  prepare  to  follow  him." 

"  Xo— send  Ralph  to  me — we  went  to  the  ball  together." 

"  That  night !  was  he  too  there  ?"  Jeauie  shuddered. 

"  Yes,  and  his  brother.  Yes,  Philip  Hamlin,  you  have 
fulfilled  your  work,  and  at  last  humbled  me.  Go,  child,  and 
leave  me." 

Jeanie's  entreaties  were  vain,  and  the  daughter  and  her 
mother  separated.  Mr.  Hamlin  communicated  to  Jeanie 
the  departure  of  Ralph,  with  his  final  message  to  her.  He 
could  have  wished  she  had  wept  ;  it  would  have  pained  him 
less,  than  to  see  her  clear  cold  features  turn  aside,  making 
her  profile  like  marble.  If  she  would  but  speak,  instead  of 
looking  upon  him  with  her  wide  expanded  eyes  so  sorrowfully. 

"  Jeanie — I  sent  him  away,  do  you  hate  me  for  it  ?" 

A  pause! 

"If  it  had  not  been  right,  you  would  not  have  done  so. 
It  is  a  shock  to  know  that  he  has  gone — to  feel  that  we 
have  parted  finally.  He  bound  me  to  him  with  a  strange 
bewildering  spell — dear  misguided  Ralph  I" 

"  Hope  still,  Jeauie — he  may  return,  and  yet  be  worthy 
of  you." 

The  pale  features  spoke  resolution,  and  determination. 

"  Mr.  Hamlin,"  said  she,  "  were  he  to  become  ten  times 
worthy  of  my  hand,  and  sorrowing  heart,  one  who  had  once 
so  forfeited  my  respect,  as  Ralph  did  on  those  two  memora 
ble  nights,  can  never  be  my  husband." 

"  You  forgive  me  then  for  bidding  him  depart,  I  deemed 
it  the  only  chance  for  his  reformation." 

A  sad  smile  flitted  across  the  sweet  face. 


388  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  If  the  act  was  not  consistent  with  honor  nobleness  and 
virtue,  such  would  not  have  been  your  course." 

"  Then  you  do  not  severely  judge  me  ?  We  are  ready 
now  to  go — Arthur  is  superintending  some — matters " 

Mr.  Hamlin  hesitated,  fearing  to  cause  pain. 

"  I  understand  you.  You  mean  dear  papa.  We  will  then 
*go  to  the  carriage." 

The  journey  to  the  travellers  was  a  peaceful  one.  The 
dead  slumbered  in  his  coffin.  It  mattered  not  to  him  who 
had  once  animated  the  frail  tenement,  that  his  body  was 
now  concealed  carefully  from  those  on  board  the  steamer. 

Jeanie,  deeply  shrouded  in  black,  was  mostly  hidden  from 
the  curious  gaze  of  strangers  ;  though  she  sometimes 
walked  on  deck.  With  fond  solicitude  she  now  watched 
each  expression  of  her  brother's  face,  while  she  asked 
herself,  if  the  painful  statement  which  Ralph  had  made  in 
his  passion  could  be  true — that  she,  from  association  with 
her  mother  had  a  reputation  so  odious,  that  it  could  blast  a 
brother's  happiness  ?  She  resolved  at  no  distant  day,  to 
solve  the  matter,  and  if  possible,  by  any  sacrifice,  to  gain 
for  his  sake,  the  confidence  and  respect  of  her  he  loved. 
That  like  herself  he  should  have  seemed  in  deep  affliction 
since  they  had  met,  occasioned  her  no  surprise.  His  gloom 
and  depression  of  spirits  were  therefore  no  evidence  of  a 
disappointment  so  keen.  He  was  as  ever  affectionate  and 
devoted.  Could  such  be  his  bearing,  if  she  had  been  the 
cause  of  so  much  sorrow  ? 

One  day  while  pacing  the  hurricane  deck  together,  a  man 
asked  another  in  her  hearing,  if  there  was  not  a  corpse  on 
board. 

"  Yes,"  replied  his  auditor,  "  and  I  shall  be  glad  when 
we  reach  the  end  of  our  trip,  I  am  superstitious  about 
such  th'mirs.  I  would  not  have  taken  the  boat  if  I  had 
known  it.  It  ought  to  be  thrown  overboard." 

Jeanie    shuddered    with   distress,    when   Arthur   looked 


T  n  R  o  u  c  i r    T  H  E   \V  o  o  D  .  389 

significantly  toward^  the  speakers.  The  black  dress  of  the 
afflicted  child  wac  seen.  The  loud  voices  were  hushed,  and 
Jeaiiie's-  sorrow  held  sacred.  The  rudest  had  respected  her 
grief,  but  too  late  had  the  wound  been  inflicted.  She 
could  not  recover  from  the  impression  that  the  dear  remains, 
for  whose  interment  they  travelled,  were  to  others  an  object 
of  horror  and  avoidance.  She  went  to  her  state-room  in 
deep  affliction  and  consternation.  In  vain  Arthur  tried  to 
comfort  her.  She  feared  the  prosecution  of  an  act,  in 
imagination  so  painful. 

Her  thoughts  wandered  to  the  green  hills,  and  the  peace 
ful  sequestered  spot  where  she  would  have  her  father  buried. 
She  had  now  terrible  surmises,  and  it  was  a  vain  task  for 
her  brother  to  attempt  to  quiet  her  nervous  apprehensions. 

The  matter  of  alarm  was  communicated  to  Mr.  Hamlin. 
He  immediately  sought,  and  found  her  sitting  by  the  lattice 
of  her  room,  which  opened  towards  the  river.  Her  head 
was  bowed  in  her  hands — her  hair  hung  loosely  about  her 
neck,  as  if  she  had  been  careless  of  its  arrangement,  her 
whole  appearance  indicating  absorption  in  grief. 

He  sat  down  by  her  :  laying  his  hand  upon  her  brown 
folds,  he  said  : 

"  Jeanie,  I  did  not  think  you  could  be  so  distrustful." 

She  looked  tearfully  into  the  intelligent  face  of  the 
speaker,  and  meeting  the  tender  expression  of  reproach 
returned,  her  eyes  fell,  to  wander  off  upon  the  broad  stream, 
where  she  seemed  to  count  each  glassy  wavelet — then  farther 
on,  her  gaze  extended  to  the  distant  line  that  girded  the  shore, 
but  a  low  bank  against  the  evening  sky.  Light  airy  clouds 
flushed  with  purple  lay  against  the  horizon,  momentarily 
assuming  new  shape  and  hue.  Upon  them,  she  finally- 
looked  intently,  as  if  the  heavens  were  no  barrier  to  the 
illimitable  range  of  her  thoughts. 

Her  eyes  remained  fixed  as  Mr.  Hamlin  spoke  of  the  folly 
of  harrowing  her  mind  with  imaginary  ills,  and  especially 


390  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OK, 

giving  herself  unnecessary  uneasiness — for  the  senseless  clay 
of  the  dearest  friend.  Intently  she  at  last  seemed  to  listen, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  fast  beating  of  the  heart,  whose 
yearnings  it  were  vain  to  silence  in  communion  with  her. 

"  In  virtue  of  my  second  best  claim  to  your  regard,"  said 
lie,  looking  at  the  receding  form  of  Arthur,  "  may  I  not 
remain  with  you  awhile,  and  we  will  see  if  we  cannot  dissi 
pate  such  idle  phantasies." 

Jeanie  assented.  It  was  evident  to  Mr.  Hamlin  that 
sorrow  had  produced  an  excited  state  of  her  nervous  system, 
and  that  she  but  needed  some  calming  influence.  He 
endeavored  to  subject  selfish  considerations  in  his  conversa 
tion,  avoiding  even  a  glance  of  the  tearful  eyes,  that  dis 
tracted  his  thoughts  from  his  subject.  The  little  hand  now 
resting  on  his  arm,  as  he  spoke  he  tried  to  look  at,  as  if  it 
were  beautiful  marble,  and  to  her  low  winning  accents,  to 
listen,  as  if  they  were  meant  for  the  ear  of  him  she  had 
loved  so  well. 

"  Do  you  not,"  said  he,  "  think  it  as  wrong  to  doubt  the 
care  of  the  Omniscient  over  your  father's  dead  body,  as  to 
be  solicitous  for  his  soul's  welfare  ?  You  know,  Jeanie,  He 
says  that  our  mortal  part  shall  rise  again  :  why  then  should 
we  fear  to  leave  it  in  his  keeping  ?" 

"  Oh  1  if  they  should  throw  it  overboard  !"  the  look,  while 
speaking  was  almost  frenzied. 

"  Will  you  not  believe  me  !  this  fear  is  groundless — 
struggle  to  properly  balance  your  mind,  and  the  vagary  will 
disappear." 

"  Oh  !  but  I  feel,  as  if  he  must  not  go  down  in  these 
terrible  waters,  where  we  struggled  so  fearfully.  Who  can 
feel  for  me  in  all  my  affliction  ?" 

The  query  was  plaintively  murmured.  Had  they  not 
breasted  the  dark  waves  together,  and  might  they  not  the 
sea  of  life  ? 

"  Do  you  think  that  He  who  can  '  turn  the  shadow  of 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  391 

death  into  the  morning,'  who  '  maketh  the  seven  stars  and 
Orion/  has  not  an  eye  that  never  slumbers  ?  Can  He  for 
get  a  being  made  to  associate  with  angels  and  archangels, 
though  she  is  but  a  feeble  mortal,  her  heart  but  a  fountain 
of  tears  ?  Do  you  think,  Jeanie,  you  have  no  sympathy 
with  such  a  friend  ?" 

"  Oh !  if  I  could  give  up  his  mortal  part,  and  think  he 
was  not  there .'"  Jeanie  pointed  in  the  direction  where  she 
believed  her  father's  remains  to  be  placed. 

"  Is  it  not  sweeter  to  think  of  that  '  pure  river,  clear  as 
crystal,'  where  he  drinks  the  waters  tliat  no  mortals  taste  ? 
— of  the  eternal  summer,  and  the  eternal  music  he  enjoys  ? 
— '  and  there  shall  be  no  night  there,  neither  light  of  the 
sun,'  and  yet  effulgence  we  cannot  conceive  makes  glorious 
his  Paradisal  home.  Will  you  not  look  upwards,  Jeanie  ? — 
the  clouds  on  which  your  eyes  were  so  long  fixed,  have  faded 
\n  the  sky,  and  all  is  rosy  and  radiant  there." 

The  query  conveyed  was  read  on  the  smiling  lips  that 
nearer  approached  her  own,  still  quivering  with  sorrow. 

"  And  those  from  my  spirit  you  would  have  so  vanish,  but 
in  the  place  of  the  clouds  comes  a  star  luminous  and  beauti 
ful.  Where  now  is  mine  to  light  my  path  ?" 

"  It  is  coming  slowly  through  the  blue.  The  spark  is 
born  of  divinity,  and  will  burn  when  the  stars  of  heaven  are 
for  ever  dimmed.  It  is  a  little  orb  now,  but  it  will  grow 
brighter  through  eternity.  You  need  no  other,  Jeanie,  for 
the  fuel  that  enkindles  it  comes  from  a  never-dying  source. 
This  little  star  is  now  under  a  cloud,  but  let  the  wing  of  the 
bright  angel  Faith  rustle  by,  and  in  your  eyes  I  shall  see  it 
as  ever  clear  and  beautiful.  God  sometimes  permits  this 
obscuration  of  the  light  within  ns,  but  we  need  never  fear 
that  He  will  suffer  blackening  mists  to  lung  rest  upon  the 
soul  that  He  has  once  illumined.  I  can  only  say  to  you,  as 
you  did  to  me  upon  the  waters,  '  Pray — trust!'  " 

With  an  eager  thirsting  for  spiritual  food  and  teaching, 


392  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Jeanie  listened  with  an  humble  faith  in  one  she  deemed  wise 
and  good,  and  as  his  tones  softened,  and  his  theme  became 
less  elevated,  tenderly  addressing  her  on  matters  of  daily 
occurrence  and  interest,  she  mourned  for  the  first  time  in 
view  of  the  period  when  they  would  be  separated,  and  she 
should  not  have  with,  her  so  kind  a  friend  and  guide. 

"  Who  will  comfort  me,  and  teach  my  duty,"  said  she, 
artlessly,  "  when  you  leave  me  again  ?" 

"  You  will  not  regard  my  absence,"  said  he,  half  coldly, 
and  with  sudden  reserve  ;  "  yon  will  have  much  to  occupy 
you  in  preparation  for*  your  new  home,  which  you  will  soon 
choose,  and  I  must  provide.  Perhaps  you  will  return  to 
your  mother  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  where  to  go.  I  never  have  felt  positive 
what  course  I  ought  to  pursue.  I  shall,  I  fear,  be  always 
bewildered." 

"  You  are  not  then  through  the  wood  ?"  Mr.  Hamlin 
smiled.  <'."  But  are  you  alone  in  this  feeling  ?  Who  of  us 
does  not  ever  seem  on  a  journey  ?  sometimes"  on  rising  ground, 
where  the  sunlight  comes  goldenly,  then  down  again  in  a 
valley,  perchance  bordered  by  roses,  but  where  we  tread  on 
thistles — a  wily  labyrinth  leading  to  darkness  mysterious  aud 
impenetrable  ;  but  who  would  not  feel  helplessly  along, 
though  with  fevered  brow,  and  a  trembling  step,  while  led 
by  the  hand  '  of  Him  who  will  open  for  us  the  pearly 
gate?  ' 

"  Oh  !  but  there  are  times  when  I  am  so  benighted." 

"  Is  not  the  word  of  God  a  lamp  ?" 

"  But  I  am  so  helpless  and  ignorant.  I  need  some  one  to 
bear  the  light,  pointing  my  way — home  ! — home  ! — shall  I 
ever  find  one  on  earth  ?" 

"  You  would  be  derided  by  any  one  else,  Jeanie,  that  you, 
an  heiress  of  an  immense  estate,  should  pine  for  a  home  !" 

"  Ah  !  but  they  would  not  understand  me  !  do  you  think 
that  a  world  of  palaces,  even  an  Eden  of  beautiful  bowers, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  393 

could  supply  me  with  all  ray  heart  craves  in  that  dear 
word  ?  Must  not  that  desideratum  of  my  earthly  hopes, 
be  sanctified  by  the  presence  of  those  of  my  love,  faith  and 
fondest  trust  ?  There  to  find  the  end  of  the  long  wood, 
and  a  path  out  of  it,  illuminated  by  the  torch  of  truth, 
wisdom  and  goodness.  Oh  !  Mr.  HamJin,  you  are  so  kind 
to  listen  to  me,  that  I  tell  you  as  I  would  none  other,  how 
this  beautiful  ideal  of  a  home  enters  into  my  dreams,  how 
the  yearning  has  grown  from  a  threadlike  rill,  to  a  broad 
rushing  river.  As  a  child,  home  was  my  mother's  sheltering 
bosom,  and  my  father's  protection  and  love  ;  as  I  grew 
older,  it  was  a  more  brilliant  conception,  and  into  this 
sanctum  I  would  bring  all  that  was  flowery  and  beautiful  ; 
and  as  I  read  poetry  and  began  to  dream,  I  would  have 
filled  it  with  the  works  of  genius,  and  there  worship  the 
living  heroes,  who  could  so  feast  my  imagination.  But 
when  I  began  to  love,"  Jeanie's  voice  trembled,  and  her 
breath  was  hurried,  "  I  forgot  all  but  the  presence  of  the 
gifted  but  faulty  being,  who  could  enchain  me,  even  while 
he  made  me  weep.  Home  seemed  then,  even  though  it 
were  in  a  desert-wild,  close  to  his  loving  heart.  Oh  !  how 
I  have  Toved,  wept  and  prayed  for  Ralph  !"  Jeanie  could 
no  longer  restrain  her  emotion,  and  Mr.  Hamlin  looked 
upon  her  as  if  he  had  seen  an  angel,  in  agony  of  tears. 
"  But,"  she  continued,  looking  up,  "  my  dream  of  a  home 
with  him  was  short,  I  soon  knew  that  it  would  be  but  a 
tumultuous  sea,  sometimes  sunny  as  gilded  waves,  and  then 
stormy  with  dark  forebodings,  while  I  trembled  lest  he 
never  would  reach  the  haven  where  my  hopes  were  placed  ; 
and  yet,  I  did  not  give  him  up — no  not  until  that  dreadful 
time  when  he  tore  from  my  heart  the  illusive  veil  that  had 
hid  his  undisciplined  nature,  and  glossed  to  me  his  vices. 
-And  now  again  J*wander  in  spirit,  my  father  dead — my 
mother  so  uncongenial  in  her  habits  and  tastes — my  brother's 

17* 


394  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

hopes  wrecked,  by  his  unfortunate  relation  to  the  sister  he 
so  loves — where  to  me  is  my  home  ?  Think  me  not 
ungrateful  to  those  who  have  so  kindly  reared  me,  but  I  do 
not  feel  that,  in  such  a  sphere  as  they  live,  I  can  grow 
as  I  would  in  intellectual,  worldly  and  heavenly  wisdom — I 
yearn  for  a  wider  expansion  of  my  faculties,  for  deeper 
teachings — am  I  wrong  to  thus  aspire  ?  Is  it  arrogant  in 
one  so  young  and  feeble  ?" 

"  You  were  ever  like  the  lark,  Jeanie,  and  ever  soaring  for 
a  purer  sky  ;  but  while  you  have  the  great  aim,  that  of 
seeking  the  applause  of  heaven,  I  know  of  no  limit  to 
which  I  would  put  a  check  to  your  flights.  The  humble 
ignorant  Christian  purchases  a  seat  in  heaven,  but  '  in  my 
Father's  house,'  are  there  not,  '  many  mansions  ?'  It 
seems  to  me  not  inconsistent  to  believe,  that  those  minds 
richest  in  godly  attainments,  shall  be  greatest  in  Christ's 
kingdom.  The  greater  their  effulgence  on  earth,  the  more 
lustrous  in  the  diadem  of  God.  There  is  beauty  in  content 
ment,  but  more  in  a  soul  exalted  with  the  glorious  ambition 
to  be  perfect  even  as  our  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect.  You 
are  sad,  and  now  easily  excited,"  he  continued,  "  from 
sorrow,  watching  and  weariness  ;  but  you  will  be  happier. 
Your  heart  will  be  made  glad  from  many  beautiful  and 
pure  sources  of  joy.  It  is  vain  and  ungrateful  to  insist 
upon  the  barrenness  of  the  world  to  produce  solid  happiness. 
The  creation  is  enough  of  itself  to  make  cheerful  the  heart 
of  the  good  Christian.  (T)o  you  remember  what  Milton  says 
of  natural  beauty,  and  its  power  to  dispel  gloom  ?  It 
will  not  be  alone  the  singing  of  birds,  the  murmur  of 
brooks,  and  the  varied  music  of  nature,  which,  will  most 
delight  you  ;  but  with  the  harmony,  will  come  swelling 
emotions  of  gratitude  towards  the  great  Source  of  such 
wonderful  creations — such  feeling  as  will  consecrate  each 
leafy  bower,  and  make  to  you,  every  morning  and  evening 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  395 

ramble,  but  a  heart  hymning  song  of  praise  and  thanks 
giving." 

"  I  know  not  why,"  said  Jeanie,  "  that  you  have  the 
power  to  lighten  the  weight,  that  oppresses  my  mind  ; 
perhaps  it  is  that  I  seem  to  acquire  strength  to  live,  from 
the  ambition  that  your  words  inspire,  to  commence  on  earth 
that  sublime  course  of  progression,  that  shall  make  the  soul 
grow  brighter  throughout  eternity." 

The  idea  seemed  to  wrap  her  in  a  deep  maze  of  thought. 
After  a  long  period  of  silence  and  repose,  during  which  Mr. 
Hamlin  watched  the  shadows  of  feeling  that  played  over 
her  features,  she,  suddenly,  with  a  beaming  glance,  said  : 
"  My  imaginations  of  heaven  within  the  last  half  hour, 
have  become  beautifully  vivid,  and  from  glory  to  glory  I 
seem  to  have  been  carried,  while  golden  sounds  filled  the 
air,  and  among  the  shining  ones  I  saw  my  father.  I  know 
that  this  is  but  a  phantasy,  but  may  not  God  have  painted 
the  picture  to  soothe  me  in  my  sorrow  ?" 

"  We  read  somewhere : 

1  When  first  an  infant  draws  the  vital  air, 
Officious  grief  should  welcome  him  to  care  : 
But  joy  should  life's  concluding  scene  attend, 
And  mirth  be  kept  to  grace  a  dying  friend  ?' 

It  is  my  belief  that  the  vision  comes  from  on  high,  and 
that  in  your  father's  death,  you  should  be  joyful  rather  than 
sad.  Do  you  think  I  can  leave  you  now,  with  the  hope 
that  you  will  be  more  cheerful  ?  We  shall  arrive  to-morrow. 
You  will  not  be  childish  longer  ?" 

The  "  good  night,"  was  returned  with  a  smile. 

It  was  a  beautiful  summer  day,  when  they  reached  the 
farm  of  Deacon  Selden  ;  and  a  meeting  full  of  painful 
emotion,  for  the  lost  had  been  found,  and  the  living  had 
passed  away. 

The  old  people  had  become  more  feeble,  and  more  child- 


396  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

ishly  loving.  Aunt  Jane  had  faded  to  a  shadow  since  the 
death  of  one  she  had  so  long,  secretly,  and  with  self-denying 
integrity,  loved.  Sweet  to  her  now  was  the  reflection  that 
she  had  never  been  tempted  aside  from  the  path  of  duty,  or 
from  it  led  the  departed  by  encouraging  him  to  seek  the 
divorce  that  he  had  once  contemplated.  With  tearful  emo 
tion  she  listened  to  the  account  of  his  last  days,  and  of  his 
reconciliation  to,  and  forgiveness  of,  his  wife. 

Keturah  was  half  insane  in  her  ungovernable  joy  at 
Jeanie's  return,  which  she  manifested  by  running  from  the 
room  to  cry,  then  returning  while  with  choking  sobs,  she 
hugged  her  in  her  arms,  crying  at  intervals,  "poor  toad  ! 
poor  toad  !" 

Jeanie  followed  the  deceased  to  his  burial.  The  bright 
sun  glared  with  its  golden  beams  upon  the  blackened  pall  ; 
the  trees  murmured  their  sweetest  whisperings  over  the  new- 
made  grave  ;  and  the  wood  minstrels,  that  the  dead  had 
loved,  sung  and  chirped  in  the  boughs  that  overhung  the 
tufted  mound — so  gay  is  nature,  so  little  heedful  of  the 
mourner's  tear  ! 

Days  of  quiet  sorrow  passed,  during  which  Jeanie  was 
cheered  by  the  presence  of  one,  who,  unknown  to  herself, 
became  essential  to  her  happiness.  But  the  time  arrived 
when  business  required  Mr.  Hamlin's  return  to  New  Orleans. 

"  I  may  see  your  mother,"  said  he.  "  Shall  I  tell  her  that 
you  will  join  her  next  winter  ?"  He  looked  at  the  sable 
dress,  and  thought  of  the  crimson  of  her  mother's  ball  ap 
parel,  and  with  a  shudder,  of  the  awful  night,  when  with 
forced  courage,  he  had  lured  her  from  the  fete.  With  hid 
den  emotion  he  remembered  that  her  passionate  love  had  led 
her  to  follow  him,  and  resolved  to  hold  another  conference 
with  one  whose  acts  in  life  had  so  deeply  marked  his  destiny. 
He  determined  that  the  meeting  should  be  such  as  to  forbid 
any  future  betrayal  of  preference  on  her  part  for  him. 

With  some  reproach  he  felt  that  he  had  been  often  harsh 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  397 

in  his  bearing  towards  her,  but  his  conscience  told  him  he 
Was  justified  in  the  severity  of  his  censure. 

"  I  shall  be  lonely,"  said  Jeanie,  her  eyes  moistening. 
"What  shall  I  do  to  occupy  myself?" 

"  I  need  not  advise  you,  for  I  think  you  aim  to  some  defin 
ite  pm-pose  in  your  pursuits." 

She  looked  her  thanks  for  the  expressed  approbation,  but 
the  smile  was  regretful.  She  was  where  the  air  was  sweet, 
pure,  and  healthful,  and  could  again  wander  by  the  old 
loved  brook,  and  with  Arthur  enjoy  the  hush  and  serenity 
of  summer.  Jeanie  was-  now  no  idle  dreamer.  She  knew 
that  her  existence  was  but  a  span,  a  probation  in  which  she 
was  to  be  cheerful  and  happy,  enjoying  the  gifts  of  God, 
while  she  daily  "  labored  in  His  vineyard  ;"  and  yet  she 
clung  to  her  monitor  and  guide. 

"  Will  you  walk  with  me  ?  It  will  be  my  last  opportunity 
for  a  long  time,  Jeanie." 

The  voice  in  which  Mr.  Hamlin  spoke  was  deep  with  feel 
ing.  They  bent  their  course  towards  a  secluded  path,  shut 
out  from  the  road  by  a  thick  grove  of  elms.  For  a  while 
the  silence  of  the  two  was  unbroken.  They  were  to  part. 
Both  felt  keenly  the  separation,  yet  neither  dared  tell  how 
much.  Mr.  Hamlin  knew  that  Jeanie  depended  upon  his 
judgment,  and  looked  up  to  him  for  direction — that  she 
regarded  him  as  a  friend  ;  but  he  believed  not  that  in  her 
young  breast  he  had  awakened  one  emotion  of  love.  After 
a  long  ramble,  and  much  pleasant  chat,  he  said  :  "  I  have 
some  news  for  you — shall  we  sit  down,  and  rest  awhile  in  the 
old  spot  where  I  first  saw  you,  Jeanie  ?"  .  He  drew  a  letter 
from  his  pocket.  "  I  have  startling  intelligence  in  this  ;  you 
must  prepare  your  mind  for  a  communication  that  may 
shock  you.  Would  you  hear  of  Ralph  ?" 

"  Nothing  evil,  I  trust  ?"  said  Jeanie,  with  painful  ear 
nestness. 


COS  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

"  Do  not  be  agitated.     You  must  know  it."     Mr.  Hamlin 
read : 

"  DEAR  PHILIP  : 

"  You  probably  suppose  me  by  this,  on  the  rollicking 
waves  of  the  Pacific,  for  such  was  your  decree  of  banishment ;  but 
after  you  left  New  Orleans — craving  your  pardon — your  imperial  nod 
seemed  no  longer  law,  in  view  of  the  higher  which  Divinity  has  estab 
lished  in  every  kingly  nature.  Self,  you  know,  was  always  my  Empe 
ror,  and  through  the  wisdom  of  the  monarch  Supreme,  I  learned  that 
my  destiny  on  earth  was  not  fulfilled,  until  I  had  once  more  explored 
the  Red  River  woods,  and  again  enraptured  my  vision  with  the  per 
fection  of  womanly  beauty.  Accordingly  I  reasoned  myself  into  the 
belief,  that  nowhere  could  I  be  further  out  of  the  devil's  temptations 
than  at  Judge  Cameron's  plantation — but,  mark  me,  brother  mine,  I 
do  not  say  out  of  an  angel's.  So,  instead  of  revelling  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  gorgeous  Orient,  or  turning  into  a  missionary  among  the 
little-eyed,  long-tailed  Chinese,  or  conforming  more  strictly  to  the 
letter  of  your  instructions — bobbing  for  whales — I  steered  for  the 
land  of  the  warm-eyed  damsel  who  has  ever  lived  in  my  memory,  if 
snugly  tucked  away  as  a  corps  de  reserve..  So,  here  I  am,  enjoying  the 
society  of  one  of  the  most  beautiful  women  thia  side  of  Houri  land. 
And  who  ventures  to  deny  that 

1  Love's  feeling  is  more  soft  and  sensible, 
Than  are  the  tender  heads  of  cockled  snails?' 

Oh,  Philip,  how  is  it  ?  does  he  not  prove 

—  '  dainty  Bacchus  to  be  gross  in  taste  T* 

Well,  however  it  may  be  with  you,  I  come  to  the  summum  bonum  of  my 
epistle.  Before  the  next  Lord's  day,  God  willing,  beneath  the  walls 
of  the  forest's  sanctuary,  I  shall  espouse  the  fair  Virginia,  our  bridal 
bower  being  lighted  for  the  occasion  by  her  majesty,  Luna  Regina- 
After  the  matrimonial  obsequies,  the  happy  pair  will  proceed  forth 
with  to  Turtle  Hollow,  and  there  sojourn  till  the  wane  of  the  honey 
moon.  Tell  the  sweet  seraph,  Jeanie — who  will  always  be  enshrined 
in  the  most  thoroughly  whitewashed  corner  of  my  heart — that  I  have 
at  last  secured  a  "  Jinny,"  who  loves  me  better  than  I  deserve.  But 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  399 

I  venture  to  impose  upon  her  credulity,  considering  she  has  a  pen 
chant  for  a  fellow  a  little  wild,  and  has  unbounded  respect  for  the 
conqueror  of  a  mustang.  I  enclose  you  a  deed  of  some  property  for 
past  loans  from  Mr.  Miller's  estate.  My  bride  will  possess  a  goodly 
portion  of  this  world's  plunder  in  a  force  of  likely  niggers.  So,  fancy 
me  growing  cotton  with  my  respected  father-in-law,  and,  if  not  tam 
ing  myself,  the  wildest  little^  Zingara  that  ever  wore  the  bridal  bit. 
She  sends  all  the  love  she  has  to  spare  from  her  '  adored  Ralph '  to 

hei  sweet  friend  Jeanie.     Felicitously, 

"  R.  LARKFIELD." 
"  P.  HAMLIN,  Esq." 

Jeanie  did  not  look  up  during  the  perusal  of  the  letter, 
and  but  a  close  observer  would  have  noted  that  she  changed 
color,  if  she  occasionally  smiled.  Tumultuous  thought, 
bringing  back  the  hours  when  her  cup  for  the  time  had 
brimmed  with  bliss  (Ralph's  presence  the  beaded  sparkle  of 
the  nectar),  awakened  sweet,  then  painful  memories. 
Before  her  vision  came  the  beautiful  smile,  the  eye  whose 
melting  power  could  alike  subdue  and  alarm  ;  and  on  her 
brow  she  felt  the  touch  of  the  rich  locks,  courting  the  play 
of  her  fingers,  which  the  lover  would  ever  have  idling  there. 
Then  sweet  and  thrilling  words  chimed  on  her  ear  like 
music — warmer  manifestations,  tingling  her  blood,  and 
brightening  her  cheek — till  with  Ralph,  she  laughed,  mused 
and  dreamed  deliciously.  The  paper  rustled  in  the  hands 
of  him  who  looked  upon  her  face,  with  an  intensity  of 
expression  no  beholder  could  fathom.  The  sound  restored  her 
to  herself,  and  to  the  consciousness  that  he,  the  loved  one,  was 
another's  now  ;  and  that  she  had  sent  him  "from  her.  Would 
she,  if  free  recall  him  ?  Rising  tears  brought  to  her  heart 
its  answer.  Over  her  came  the  shadows  of  a  death-bed  scene 
causing  her  to  remember,  that  while  the  sable  wing  of  the 
destroyer  there  hovered,  that  she  could  not  with  her  worldly 
idol  then  hold  converse.  Beneath  rosy  skies,  and  in  flower 
wreathed  bowers,  to  her  he  had  been  the  sunshine  of  each 
gilded  prospect  :  but  had  she  not  been  sadly  taught,  that 


400  TEE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

the  golden  sands  of  life  are  fewest,  and  that  through  the 
wood  of  an  earthly  pilgrimage,  it  might  be  God's  will, 
that  she  should  travel  oft  a  flinty  path  ?  Was  not  her 
heart,  her  resolution  too  faint  to  resist  the  beguiling  voice 
and  sterner  mandate  of  one  she  must  "  love  and  obey  ?"- 
would  it  not  be  easier,  less  toilsome  to  follow  the  charmer 
up  the  shining  roseate  path,  laughing  at  the  grim  phantoms 
peeping  at  her  through  the  blooming  garlands,  than  to 
listen  to  the  voice  of  conscience  ?  and  when  the  night 
shadows  came,  perchance  spreading  far  and  wide,  blacken 
ing  and  shrivelling  like  a  scroll  her  youthful  hopes,  would 
she  not  then,  wander  hopelessly,  with  the  gay  being  who 
profanely,  irreligiously  led  her  on  ?  Shudderingly  she  shrank 
from  the  vision :  her  chosen  one,  must  be  a  co-worker  with 
her  in  the  vineyard  of  Hun,  who  is  alike  the  Vine  and  the 
Branch. 

The  sun  was  going  down.  Fleecy  cloudlets  piled  up,  and 
rolled  away  in  the  evening  sky  ;  and  beneath  them  girdled  a 
zone  of  hills  castling  the  canopy  with  towers  of  mighty 
strength.  Slowly  outpeeped  the  silvery  eyes  of  stars,  as  if 
angels  might  look  therefrom  upon  the  earth,  the  terraced 
garden  of  their  crystal  court. 

The  hour,  the  tranquillity  of  the  scene,  the  thought  which 
had  made  her  brain  reflective,  had  rendered  her  unconscious 
of  the  pain  her  tears  and  pensive  abstraction  cost  her  com 
panion.  And  yet  the  liquid  pearls  but  trembled  in  their 
welkin  blue. 

"  Are  you  disappointed  ?"  said  she,  rising  to  pick  a  leaf 
from  a  shrub. 

"  No — Jeanie,  I  am  never  disappointed  in  any  movement 
of  Ralph's.  The  greatest  pain  in  this,  is  the  pain  I  have 
caused  you.  The  idol  I  see  is  not  given  up." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Jeanie  with  winning  frankness,  "  think  me 
not  so  weak — I  was  but  making  a  comparison  for  reflection. 
It  ended  well — we  should  have  never  been  happy  united. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  401 

I  cannot  lead — I  must  be  helplessly  guided  onward,  and 
would  not  I  have  sinned  in  casting  reproach  upon  the 
religion  I  professed  ?  I  do  not  despair  for  him,  for  with 
'  God  all  things  are  possible,'  but  my  poor  wings  would 
have  drooped  in  the  effort  to  elevate  his  ;  and  had  I  less  to 
forgive,  I  should  have  feared — agonizingly  trembled  in  view 
of  a  union  with  Ralph.  He  will  have  a  sweet  wife " 

"And  you  can  bless  the  betrothal  ?" 

"  Yes  :  strange  that  I  should  have  believed  he  so  much 
loved  me  1" 

"  He  did,  but  not  in  the  pure  sense  of  the  word — never 
when  self  was  not  uppermost." 

"  How  can  you  tell  ?"  said  she,  artlessly.  "  Did  you  ever 
love  any  one  ?" 

"  Jeanie,  why  do  you  torture  me  with  that  question  ?"' 

"  Does  it  pain  you  ? — is  there  any  one  long  since  dead, 
whose  memory  makes  you  sad  ? — or  is  she  living  ? — won't  you 
tell  me  ?"  The  childlike  appeal  showed  Mr.  Hamlin  that 
Jeanie  was  ignorant  of  the  nature  of  his  attachment  for 
her. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  said  he,  looking  into  her  beautiful  eyes. 
"  I  do  love  a  little  girl  who  is  wholly  insensible  to  my  affec 
tion — who  looks  up  to  me  as  to  an  older  brother,  and  who 
will  soon  forget  me  after  I  am  gone  away." 

The  eyes  in  the  starlight  opened  wider,  and  were  fixed 
upon  the  speaker  as  if  with  startled  inquiry.  Suddenly  she 
lost  possession  of  the  little  hand  that  had  crept  slowly  from 
the  arm  on  which  it  had  rested. 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  "  I  love  this  sweet  girl  next  to  my 
God— I  love  her,"  his  stern  voice  trembled  with  tenderness, 
"  with  a  depth  of  feeling  that  drives  me  from  her." 

"  Why  ?"  was  rather  breathed  than  spoken,  as  the  slight 
trembling  form  was  clasped  silently. 

"  She  cannot — she  does  not  love  me.  And  without  a 
return — even  one  word,  I  must  go." 


402  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  What  a  foolish  thing  she  is  for  yon  to  lore  !"  were  words 
lisped  as  the  young  face,  in  its  maiden  blushes,  was  drawn 
persuasively  nearer,  hid  in  the  little  white  hands,  close 
to  his  breast. 

"  My  little  Pico  !  cannot  it  be  ? — may  I  hope  ?  Am  I 
not  too  old,  too  stern  ?" 

Gently  was  the  head  raised — and  the  glowing  face,  with 
its  roseate  hue  of  shame,  searched  for  a  reply. 

In  a  whisper  came  : 

"  I  am  nothing — only  to  you  a  little  girl — no,  no,  you  are 
not  Ralph.  I  never  knew  the  moment,  when  I  could  say  to 
him,  as  now  to  you,  '  Yes,  take  me  wholly  in  thy  keeping.' 
I  might  have  more  passionately  loved,  but  as  I  would  rather 
the  pure  mountain  brook  sang  my  lullaby,  than  that  my  veins 
ever  trembled  with  the  strains  of  wildest  revelry,  so  I  leave 
my  heart  with  you." 

"  It  was  too  tempting  to  draw  forth  this  confession,"  the 
lover  answered  ;  "  but  supposing  that  before  you  existed,  I 
had  been  enslaved  by  one  more  radiant — more  beautiful— 
but  never  half  so  lovely,  one  that  I  must  soon  seek,  could 
you  still  say  '  Yes  ?' " 

"  I  can  trust."     The  tone  of  Jeanie  showed  her  faith. 


THROUGH    T  H  K    WOOD.  403 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

AT  sunrise,  the  following  morning,  a  tearful,  blushing 
face  looked  forth  from  the  same  window  where  a 
little  girl  once  stood  to  watch  for  her  juvenile  visitors,  but 
now  it  was  to  catch  the  last  glimpse  of  a  form  vanishing  in 
the  distance — a  being  to  whom  she  had  just  bade  fare 
well. 

The  youthful  face,  with  its  sweet,  serious  expression, 
turned  with  a  sigh  to  meet  the  affectionate  look  of  her 
brother,  who  drew  her  beside  him  on  the  old  confidential 
sofa,  and  with  pleasant  raillery  attempted  to  laugh  away  her 
tears. 

"  I  am  made  very  happy  in  this  engagement,  dear  Jeanie," 
said  he  ;  "  and  saved  the  painful  solicitude  attending  a 
return  to  New  Orleans.  Oh  ]  could  I  ever  consent  to  your 
going  again  to  your  mother  ?" 

"  Arthur,"  said  Jeanie,  painfully  affected,  "why  have  you 
been  so  unconfiding  to  your  only  sister — one  who  has 
always  so  fondly  loved  you  ?  Why  have  you  kept  from  me 
so  reservedly  your  sorrows,  and  never  breathed  to  me  the 
cause  of  your  separation  from  Mary  ?" 

With  a  start,  Arthur  rose  from  his  seat,  and  after  hurri 
edly  pacing  the  room,  said  : 

"  Mary  may  not  be  now  among  the  living.  Is  not  this 
cause  enough  ?" 

"  No,  Arthur,  not  for  you,  with  your  noble  heart,  to 
abandon  her  in  her  dying  hour.  Did  you  not  love  her  faith 
fully  ?" 


4 n }.  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  Jeanie,  do  not  harass  me.  I  cannot  explain.  It  was 
enough  that  we  separated." 

"  Was  there  no  alternative  ?  Could  you  not  have  aban 
doned  your  little  sister  ?" 

"  Jeanie  1     Who  has  been  so  cruel  ?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me  ;  it  is  sufficient  that  I  know  the  cause  of 
so  much  trial — but,  my  dear  brother,  I  now  plead  for  per 
mission  to  go  to  this  family,  and  if  by  any  argument,  any 
persuasion,  any  good  deed,  I  can  remove  their  prejudices, 
let  me  show  them  that  they  will  not  be  dishonored  by  a 
connection  with  your  sister." 

"  Never  !"  said  Arthur,  sternly,  and  impressively.  "  They 
have  insulted  you,  and  although  poor  Mary,  in  her  misguid 
ed  education,  has  innocently  imbibed  the  prejudices  of  her 
bigoted  teachers,  still  she  is  guilty  in  not  openly  ignoring 
their  opinions,  and  boldly  adopting  and  adhering  to  the  rel 
atives  of  him  to  whom  she,  pledged  her  hand.  Lack  of  res 
olution  and  moral  courage  has  been  her  only  fault  ;  but  I 
would  not  censure  her  ;  she  has  paid  the  penalty,  I  fear,  it 
may  be  to  the  loss  of  her  life." 

"  And  you  will  not  see  her,  knowing  this  ?" 

"  Do  you  think,  Jeanie,  I  would  lower  my  sister  so  much  ? 
Mary,  separated  from  her  family,  would  have  once  entirely 
satisfied  my  heart  ;  but  under  the  domination  of  her  rulers, 
she  is  like  a  reed  shaken  by  the  wind.  Jeanie,  one  word  of 
truth  from  her  lips  would  have  saved  us  both  this  misery — 
she  from  a  broken  heart,  and  I  the  consciousness  and  agony 
of  having  crushed  it." 

"  Arthur  !  and  have  you  suffered  thus,  and  never  told 
me  !  and  I  the  cause  ?" 

In  accents  of  despair,  Jeanie  cried,  "  What  can  I  do  ? 
How  can  I  banish  their  ill-will,  and  save  this  terrible 
death  ?" 

"  Why  should  you  attempt  it,  my  priceless  girl  ?  you,  who 
would  be  to  them  all  an  angel  in  their  pathway — you,  to 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  405 

cause  them  disgrace  !  No — no — say  no  more  ;  let  her  die 
in  her  willfulness.  I  would  have  saved  her." 

"  Then  you  love  her  no  more  ?" 

"  Jeanie,  Mary  Middleton  was,  and  is  to  me  inexpressibly 
dear,  and  her  affection  beautiful  and  pure  as  her  sweet  face, 
but  I  would  have  seen  her  die  a  martyr's  death,  before  I 
would  have  cast  reproach  by  a  look  or  concession,  deroga 
tory  to  the  character  of  my  sister." 

"  And  you  know  not,"  said  Jeanie,  in  a  tone  of  anguish, 
"  whether  or  not  she  is  living  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  would  know  who  has  tortured  you  with  tins 
tale  of  sorrow  and  mortification.  Whoever  it  may  be,  de 
serves  a  badge  of  infamy." 

;'  I  shall  never  disclose  my  informant,  but  let  me  excul 
pate  Mr.  Hamlin." 

"  I  have  not  suspected  him — he  could  do  nothing  ignoble. 
There  is  but  one  objection  to  him  in  my  eyes  for  your  hus 
band — he  is  too  old  for  you." 

"  He  does  not  seem  so.  He  is  then  the  better  fitted  to 
guide  me  in  my  inexperience." 

"  And  does  my  little  sister  really  love  him  ?"  said  Arthur, 
playfully,  seeking  the  downcast  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know,  only  I  wish  he  was  here  again.  Will  he 
be  gone  so  very  long  ?" 

"  A  child  still,  Jeanie  !  I  hope  not,  if  his  coming  will 
make  you  happier.  You  must  remember  the  old  bachelor 
will  want  to  see  some  more  permanent  roses  on  the  cheek  of 
his  young  bride.  You  must  not  forget  his  instructions." 

"  What  were  they  ?"  said  Jeanie,  with  a  brightened  com 
plexion. 

"  To  walk  in  the  morning  air  daily,  and — to  be  sure  and 
write  to  him.  I  thought  you  might  forget  this  last  injunc 
tion." 

"  To  see  you  happy,  dear  Arthur,"  Jeanie  whispered, 
"  would  do  more  for  the  restoration  of  my  health." 


400  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 

. «. 

"  Hush* — no  more,"  clasping  the  waist  of  his  sister, 
"  forget  my  destiny  in  the  happiness  of  your  own." 

Until  near  morning,  Jeanie  talked  to  her  Aunt  Jane  of 
Arthur,  and  his  disappointment,  while  she  bitterly  bewailed 
the  cause  of  so  much,  sorrow.  The  following  day  she  early 
consulted  her  faithful  friend  Keturah,  who  promised  to 
bring  her  speedy  information  respecting  the  condition  of 
Mary. 

The  report  proved  discouraging.  The  old  man  had  had 
a  paralytic  fit,  having  been  through  the  winter  in  a  state 
of  idiotic  lunacy.  Mrs.  Middleton  lay  ill  of  typhus  fever, 
and  Mary  seemed  in  a  state  of  irremediable  gloom,  her 
health  daily  becoming  worse.  The  villagers  disliked  the 
old  folks  so  much,  that  it  was  difficult  to  procure  nurses  or 
watchers  for  them,  and  well  as  Mary  was' beloved,  the  situa 
tion  of  the  family  was  such,  they  suffered  for  lack  of  aid. 

"  I  will  go  to  them,"  said  Jeanie,  "  and -try  to  do  them 
good." 

"Into  that  confection! — -and  give  *it  to  all  of  us  !  you 
know  how  'fraid  Mr.  Flint  is  ,of  infirmities.  He  says  he 
never  got  over  the  cow-pox  he  cotched  at  camp  meetin'." 

"  I  will  be  careful,  and  if  I  am  ill,  will  procure  a  hired 
nurse,  and  stay  at  Mad  River." 

"  No,  you  shan't  neither — I'll  come  and  take  care  of  you, 
if  it  kills  the  old  spider,  if  ,you  will  go — but  I  think  it  is 
very  risky  of  you." 

"  You  must  help  me  in  this  matter,  my  good  Keturah  ; 
I  shall  be  opposed,  perhaps  ridiculed  and  ill  treated  when  I 
arrive,  but  in  this  project  I  shall  have  much  satisfac 
tion." 

To  Keturah  she  did  not  state  her  worst  fears,  or  make 
known  the  enmity  of  the  Middletons  toward  her  ;  but 
with  tears  and  entreaties  begged  her  benevolent  aunt  to 
aid  her  in  her  wishes. 

"  It  will  be  useless,"  said  the  less  courageous  Jane,  "  they 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  407 

will  only  scorn  and  insult  you — you  know  nothing  of  their 
bitter  feelings.  I  should  tremble  for  you  in  this  experiment." 

"  But  oh,  think  of  the  inducement,  dear  aunt  ;  may  I  not 
do  good  to  those  who  hate  me  ?  and  perhaps  be  able  to 
remove  this  ill  feeling,  so  that  Arthur  and  Mary  may  be 
united.  Must  I,"  she  continued,  "  let  Such  an  opportunity 
pass  when  I  might  be  so  essentially  useful  ?"  The  young 
Christian  with  ardent  zeal,  panted  for  warfare  in  some 
field  of  action.  She  knew  she  would  be  sternly  opposed  by 
Arthur,  and  perhaps  occasion  Mr.  Hamlin  deep  anxiety. 
Would  this  course  obtain  for  her  the  "  roses  "  which  he 
playfully  and  lovingly  told  her  she  must  wear,  when  he  met 
her  again  ?  Instead,  might  she  not  fade  and  droop  with 
weariness,  if  she  escaped  the  fever  ?  She  had  resolved  she 
would,  if  in  her  power,  each  day  revive  some  drooping 
spirit,  and  animate  some  feeble  resolution  to  struggle  on 
against  the  adver-se  winds  and  tides  of  fortune — was  it  for 
her  to  choose  the  task  ?  Might  not  poor  Mary  suffer  for 
the  lack  of  that  sympathy  for  which  she  had  yearned  ? 
Was  it  for  her  to  consider  that  she  was  deemed  unworthy 
the  office  ?  Was  not  our  Saviour  spit  upon  in  His  holiness, 
why  then  should  she,  so  great  a  sinner,  escape  opprobrium  ? 

Such  was  the  groundwork  of  her  arguments.  To  do  good 
to  those  who  hated  and  despised  her,  it  required  all 
her  courage  to  confront  opposition  at  home,  and  the  enmity 
and  prejudices  of  those  she  would  assist  in  their  need.  She 
looked  at  the  reflection  of  her  still  pale  features,  and 
doubted  whether  the  state  of  her  health  was  commensurate 
with  the  task  she  would  undertake.  Jeanie  sighed  to  think 
that  months  would  pass  before  she  should  see  him  who  had 
been  her  arbiter  in  times  of  doubt  and  indecision.  Then, 
she  remembered  that  he  had  commended  her  for  acting  from 
some  definite  aim  and  purpose.  Should  he  be  disap 
pointed  ? 

She  walked  forth  at  twilight,  the  evening  after  he  had 


408  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

left  her,  and  involuntarily  to  little  Pico's  grave.  Blushing, 
she  remembered  he  had  called  her  by  the  name  of  her  pet. 
The  memory  caused  her  happiness  ;  it  was  a  name  dear  and 
sweet.  She  felt  the  consciousness  of  a  noble  desire  in  the 
resolution  she  had  formed  ;  the  spirit  of  her  father  seemed 
to  hover  over  her,  saying  in  the  words  of  Jesus,  "  Lovfc 
your  enemies" — "do  good  to  them  that  hate  you."  She 
knew  that  it  was  right  for  her  to  enjoy  the  inhalation  of 
sweet  flowers  by  the  wayside,  but  when  she  was  called  into 
a  rugged  path,  where  thorns  grew  instead,  that  she  must 
not  turn  aside  lest  she  should  feel  their  poisonous  prick. 

The  following  morning,  after  leaving  a  note  for  Arthur, 
Jeanie  departed  for  Mad  Eiver.  She  nerved  herself  to 
enter,  expecting  a  rebuff,  but  determining  to  return  a  soft 
answer  to  one  of  wrath. 

She  received  a  querulous  reply  to  "  come  in,"  from  the  voice 
of  the  sick  woman,  who  was  chiefly  nursed  by  a  noisy  group 
whojiad  ever  feared  her  too  much  in  health,  to  feel  much 
solicitude  for  her  iu  illness.  The  old  man  sat  nearly  help 
less  in  a  rocking-chair,  one  half  of  his  body  being  benumbed 
with  palsy,  and  his.  brain  partially  deranged — lunacy 
exhibited  by  his  efforts  to  strike  different  objects  within  reach, 
fancying  them  children,  while  he  addressed  them  as  such. 

In  a  remote  part  of  a  large  room,  lay  Mary,  the  gentle 
invalid,  whose  sole  thoughts  seemed  bent  upon  a  package  of 
Arthur's  letters,  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  never  parting 
with  them  even  at  night. 

Her  form  was  wasted,  and  daily  grew  thinner  without 
cough  or  pain.  Her  face  was  spiritually  beautiful,  having 
gained  a  cast  of  intellectual  thought  that  she  had  not  pos 
sessed  while  in  perfect  health.  A  raw  and  rude  specimen  of 
a  Yankee  girl  did  the  work  of  the  household,  and  with  little 
apparent  feeling  for  the  sick.  Watchers  had  been  appointed 
in  rotation  by  the  villagers  at  night,  but  during  the  day  the 
family  lacked  assistance. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  409 

The  physician  and  clergyman  occasionally  called  on  the 
Middletons,  but  so  ungracious  had  been  their  reception  at 
first,  their  visits  were  subsequently  reluctantly  paid,  and,  but 
for  Mary,  would  have  been  discontinued. 

Without  inquiry  or  comment,  Jeanie  made  herself  useful. 

The  jargon  of  the  old  man  alarmed  her,  but  seeing  he  was 
helpless,  she  soon  ceased  to  regard  him  ;  but  to  the  inces 
sant  complaints  and  cries  of  Mrs.  Middleton  for  assistance, 
she  found  her  services  in  active  requirement.  If  she  at 
tempted  to  bathe  her  head,  she  would  ask  her  if  she  wished 
to  put  fire-brands  upon  it,  and  invariably  declared  that  poi 
son  seasoned  all  her  medicines  and  drinks.  She  often  threw 
them  in  the  face  of  Jeanie,  and  but  for  the  resolute  and 
firm  entreaties  of  her  nurse,  would  not  have  taken  any  pre 
scribed.  She  was  too  ill  at  first  to  note  who  was  about  her 
bed,  but  as  she  began  to  convalesce  under  Jeauie's  incessant 
watching,  she  became  curious  to  know  to  whom  she  had  been 
so  much  indebted. 

Mary,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  been  won  by  the  sweet  at 
tentions  and  words  of  Jeanie,  who  read  to,  and  cheered  the 
gentle  girl  with  her  conversation,  while  she  gratified  her 
taste  with  the  flowers  which  she  daily  culled  and  laid  on  her 
pillow  ;  and  when  wearied  with  all  else,  would  read  and  sing 
to  her.  At  times  Mary  would  look  with  painful  earnestness, 
and  once  caught  her  hand,  while  she  said  :  "  Oh  !  that  was 
Arthur's  voice  !  Arthur's  look  !" 

"  And  you  could  not,"  said  Jeanie,  "  love  me  if  I  was 
Arthur's  sister  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  she  was  like  you  !  but  no — she  is  a  wicked  being  ; 
one  that  tampers  with  evil  spirits,  and  they,  say  is  so  beauti 
ful,  that  it  is  dazzling  and  fearful  to  see  her.  It  is  dreadful 
to  think  one  so  good  and  noble  as  my  Arthur,  should  be  so 
deluded  as  to  follow  her,  and  her  dangerous  mother — but  he 
will  die  as  his  father  did,  and  be  taken  from  her." 

18 

• 


410  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

Jeanie  humored  the  delusion  which  had  become  seemingly 
unconquerable,  and  by  unwearied  devotedness  soothed  and 
nursed  the  affectionate,  misguided  misanthrope,  until  gra-te- 
fully  and  lovingly  the  fond  girl  would  throw  her  arms  about 
her  neck,  and  cry,  saying  that  she  wished  Arthur  had  such 
a  sister. 

But  not  thus  pleasant  was  the  task  of  waiting  upon  the 
exacting,  imperious  mother,  who,  as  she  improved,  accused 
her  of  every  underhanded  device  to  retard  her  recovery, 
and  who,  if  left  temporarily  by  Jeanie,  would  condemn  her 
for  cruelty,  and  a  desire  to  afflict  her,  because  she  was 
appointed  by  Heaven  to  be  the  greatest  living  martyr. 

"  Our  Saviour  was  patient  in  long  suffering,"  said  Jeanie. 

After  receiving  much  abuse  for  her  "  ignorance,"  and 
"  miserable  nursing,"  Jeanie  finally  told  her  that  she  believed 
she  must  leave  them — that  she  was  too  young  and  inexperi 
enced  to  comfort  her. 

"  I  suppose*you  expect  to  be  paid  ?"  said  Mrs.  Midclleton, 
as  she  for  the  first  tune  sat  up  in  her  chair,  to  which  she 
had  been  aided  by  Jeanie. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  youthful  nurse,  "  with  some  apprecia 
tion  of  my  motives  at  least,  in  coming  to  you." 

"  Is  that  all,  my  dear  ?"  said  the  mollified  patient  ;  "  well, 
this  is  a  little  more  of  the  good  Samaritan  than  I  expected 
to  see  in  Mad  River  ;  but  maybe  you  didn't  come  from  this 
section  ?  I've  scolded  you  some,  because  it  is  my  way,  and 
when  I  am  sick,  it  is  the  only  course  I  can  take  to  make 
people  step  around  ;  but  you  do  not  seem  to  be  governed  by 
fear,  or  any  other  reason  that  I  can  find  out.  It  isn't  be 
cause  you  like  us,  that  you  have  come  to  catch  the  fever,  is 
it?" 

"  I  came  to  do  you  good — is  not  this  sufficient  induce 
ment  ?" 

"  But  such  angels  don't  visit  Mad  River,  and  my  house 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  411 

unawares  ;  but  I  won't  quarrel  with  you  any  longer,  for  you 
luveu't  been  much  in  the  way,  if  you  are  ignorant  ;  and 
what  is  more,  don't  want  any  pay  for  it." 

"  Yes  I  do,"  said  Jeanie,  with  a  sweet,  arch  look,  while 
she  brought  the  dictatorial  lady  a  cup  of  tea,  "  I  want  you 
to  acknowledge  that  I  am  not  a  beautiful,  designing  sprite 
of  mischief,  but  nothing  but  a  simple  country  girl,  who 
would  gladly  do  you  any  service  that  comes  within  the  pale 
of  a  Christian's  duty,  not  forgetting  that  one  of  them  is  to 
'  pray  for  them  which  despitefully  use  you.'  " 

"  Well,  Miss  Mysterious,  while  you  comb  out  my  snarled 
hair,  I'll  talk  to  you  ;  your  fingers  are  so  soft,  they  feel  nice 
on  my  weak  head.  You  don't  pull,  either,  as  Betsey  Wash- 
burn  does,  and  while  you  are  about  I  want  you  to  say  over 
some  of  the  Scripture  you  did  when  you  thought  I  was 
going  to  die." 

"  I  don't  remember,"  said  Jeanie,  commencing  her  work, 
"  but  I  believe  I  told  you  when  you  were  getting  better,  and 
censuring  so  bitterly  some  of  the  villagers  for  not  fulfilling 
their  duties,  that  of  the  Christian  graces  the  Bible  says,  the 
greatest  is  Charity  ;  and  that  we  are  also  told  to  judge 
not,  lest  we  be  judged.  We  have  no  evidence  in  all  Christ's 
demeanor,  or  trials,  that  He  ever  was  impatient.  I  think — 
do  you  not  ? — that  it  is  wicked  to  be  harsh  and  rude." 

"  Well,  I  declare,  I  never  thought  it  was  sinful  ;  but  now 
I  remember  St.  Peter  says,  '  be  courteous,'  and  I  suppose  it 
ain't  in  everybody  to  be  so  strict  in  religion  as  I  be  ;  and 
now  I'm  so  feeble  I  can  see  that  folks  can't  always  go 
through  thick  and  thin  to  mind  their  souls,  as  I  do  when 
I'm  well." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  being  strict  ii  religion  ?" 

"  You  do  pin  one  up  so  close  ;  why,  I  mean  walking  a 
crack  yourself,  and  seeing  that  your  neighbors  do." 

"  If  you  mean  by  leading  others  by  your  walk  and  con- 


412  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

versation  to  follow  a  good  example,  then  we  agree  on  this 
point  ;  but  I  believe  we  should  first  pluck  out  the  '  beam.' " 

"  Well,  one  thing  I'll  agree  to,  that  you've  touched  me 
on  a  tender  point ;  and  I  ain't  offended  either,  but  there 
ain't  a  man,  woman  or  child  in  Mad  River,  that  would  have 
dared  to  doubted  my  godliness,  but  you've  cut  and  bled  me 
like  a  good  surgeon,  without  hurting  ;  and  now  I  want  to 
know  who  you  be,  and  I'll  agree  after  this,  to  let  other 
people's  religion  rest,  while  I  look  some  after  my  own,  and  see 
if  I  hadn't  better  start  with  the  sins  of  my  tongue.  Tell  me 
what  I  can  do  for  you,  to  begin  with." 

"  I  wan't  you  to  make  your  poor  child  happy,  by  remov 
ing  from  her  mind  the  prejudice  you  have  created  against 
the  sister  of  her  lover." 

"  What  that  awful  creetur  ?  it  can't  be,  that  such  a  little 
good  thing  as  you  be — little  Methodist  with  your  plain  satin 
hair,  and  pretty  face,  can  like  such  bedizened  people,  with 
their  tires,  wimples  and  tinkling  cymbals — leading  such  awful 
lives  as  they  do  down  in  Orleens  ?" 

"  Don't  you  think  that  one  can  be  a  good  Christian  in 
New  Orleans  ?" 

"  Well,  it  would  be  a  tight  pinch  I  think." 

"  I  have  heard  there  the  best  of  sermons,  and  known 
many  devout  Christians  who  lead  as  consistent  lives,  as 
those  out  of  the  temptation  of  a  gay  city.  The  light  of 
such  shines  the  brighter,  in  contrast." 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  give  in,  that  there  is 
good  people  everywhere,  and  that  we  must  not  believe  all 
we  hear  bad  of  folks — but  I  always  make  up  my  mind  by  a 
squint  or  a  hearsay." 

•"  We  certainly  must  not  bear  false  witness  or  be  gov 
erned  by  willful  prejudices.  Are  you  now,"  said  Jeanie, 
seating  herself  on  a  low  seat,  and  taking  the  hand  of  the 
convicted  woman,  "  ready  to  own  me  as  your  friend,  and 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  413 

sister  in  Christ,  though  I  profess  to  be  this  same  odious 
Jeanie  Miller,  that  you  have-  hated  so  ?" 

With  a  wild  look  of  astonishment,  Mrs.  Middleton  heard 
Jeanie's  explanation,  and  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes, 
through  which  tears  fell  ;  then  with  a  shaking  of  her  still 
weak  form,  she  bent  over  the  young  head  that  leaned 
forward  on  her  lap,  and  said,  "  Well,  I'm  beat,  this  is  too 
much  for  human  nature  to  believe." 

"  And  you  would  not  spurn  me  now  for  Mary's  sister  ?" 

The  agitated  woman,  with  her  strong  will  and  domineer- 
,ing  spirit,  could  control  no  longer  the  flood  of  emotion  and 
gratitude  that  swelled  at  her  heart.  She  wept  like  a  child. 
Becoming  composed,  she  said  : 

"  We  have  treated  him  and  you  so  scurrilously;  and  Mary 
is  dying,  too,  of  a  broken  heart — oh  dear  I" 

"  The  same  day  Mary  was  convinced  that  their  sweet 
nurse  and  benefactor  was  Arthur's  sister.  The  intelligence 
was  like  rain  to  the  parched  floweret. 

"  You  would  not  commiserate  my  situation,  could  you  look  in  upon 
me,  dear  Arthur,"  wrote  Jeanie.  "  The  house  of  affliction  and  gloom 
for  which  I  left  you,  is  now  one  of  happiness  and  joy.  It  would  do 
your  kind  heart  good  to  witness  the  change.  As  I  sit  by  the  window 
of  the  little  fragrant  parlor,  where  you  and  Mary  have  held  com 
munion,  before  me  is  the  dear  invalid,  whom  I  have  dressed  and 
propped  in  her  easy-chair,  that  she  might,  like  myself,  enjoy  the 
fragrant  smell  of  the  clover  and  new  mown  hay.  Could  you  now 
look  upon  the  sweet  face  from  which  every  cloud  of  distrust  is 
chased — so  perfect  is  her  faith  in  your  constancy — you  could  not 
resist  the  happiness  of  making  it  permanent,  by  a  speedy  return  to 
her ;  and  by  the  fulfillment  of  vows,  so  nearly  broken  by  the  strong 
rooted  prejudice  of  her  mother. 

"  Could  you  have  seen  this  stern  woman  weep  for  the  wrong  she  had 
done  me,  you  would  be  softened  in  your  asperity  against  her.  Poor 
Mary  has  been  a  monomaniac  on  this  point,  but  is  now  satisfied  that 
the  bugbear  of  her  dreams  is  no  more,  and  night  and  day  clasps  me 
to  her  heart  as  her  beloved  sister.  I  have  not  forgotten  all  your 
multitudinous  objections  against  my  coming,  and  in  truth  there  have 


414  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

been  times  when  I  have  wept  from  weariness  and  impatience  with 
my  trials  as  a  nurse ;  but  I  was  comforted  even  then,  and  said  to  my 
yearning  heart,  which  craved  more  cheerful  companionship ;  have 
faith  in  God.  And  have  I  not  now  my  reward?  It  is  true 
I  am  ill — feeble  fot  want  of  rest ;  I  pine  for  my  long  walks, 
and  for  the  enjoyment  of  my  books  and  music,  and  more  than  all 
else,  for  time  to  write  to  Mr.  Hamlin,  who  knows  not  of  my  con 
finement.  But  the  battle  is  over ;  my  efforts  to  please,  no  longer 
meet  rebuffs  or  quarrelsome  opposition — my  night  and  day  watching 
is  no  longer  received  as  that  of  a  hired  menial — but  gratitude  and 
patience  breathe  in  every  thankful  word,  from  her  who  was  so  lately 
my  worst  enemy.  The  old  man  is  declining  fast ;  he  has  dropped  his 
stick,  and  is  even  content  I  should  wait  upon  him,  without  suspicion 
that  I  mean  to  do  him  harm. 

"  Mrs.  Middleton  is  fast  recovering.  The  house  through  my  direc 
tions  has  been  purified  ;  and  I  think  with  safety,  you  can  come  and 
see  Mary.  I  shall  remain  through  tlfe  week,  and  then  return  to  the 
farm  to  recruit  my  health.  May  I  not  hope  you  will  travel  with  the 
dear  invalid  and  myself,  for  our  mutual  benefit  ? 

"  Your  devoted  sister, 

"  JEANIE." 

It  was  not  without  fierce  and  bitter  struggles  with  his 
pride,  that  Arthur  Miller  could  forgive  those  who  had  so 
traduced  his  sister  ;  but  love  conquered  in  the  conflict,  and 
in  the  reunion  with  the  sweet  fragile  girl  who,  from  excess 
of  joy  fainted  on  his  heart,  he  was  repaid  for  his  sufferings. 

The  following  week,  Arthur  and  Mary  with  Jeanie  started 
on  a  bridal  tour — preparations  being  made  during  their 
absence,  by  good  Aunt  Jane,  for  their  future  home  at 
Castlemont. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  415 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

MR.  FLINT  had  returned  from  a  journey  West,  whither 
he  had  gone  to  "  get  rid  of  the  funeral,"  it  being 
privately  surmised,  that  he  was  jealous  lest  in  a  tune  of  so  - 
much  excitement  he  should  be  lost  sight  of. 

"  The  same  old  sixpence,"  vociferated  Miss  Sprunt,  drag 
ging  in  over  Mink's  black  tail  the  old  yellow  trunk,  which 
was  fast  getting  bald,  and  out  of  nails — all  wholly  visible 
being  the  remains  of  a  brass  Z  ambushed  in  scant  hair. 
Keturah  scolded,  but  was  inwardly  elated  at  the  return  of 
one  in  whom  she  began  to  take  evident  interest.  Immediate 
requisition  was  made  for  her  sympathy,  the  bachelor  having 
imprudently  spent  the  money  she  had  lent  him  in  commodi 
ties  useless  to  her. 

"  Don't  you  see  how  heavy  it  is  ?"  said  the  drug-laden 
Zebedee,  aside.  "  Well,  it  is  full  of  articles.  I  bought 'em 
cheap."  Then  with  a  wink  to  Keturah,  he  promised  to 
expose  to  her  his  purchases,  among  which  was  a  "  span 
new  ratinet "  for  herself.  He  had  also  brought  home  with 
him  all  he  promised  in  the  way  of  news,  keeping  her  in  an 
unbecoming  state  of  explosive  merriment,  for  an  indefinite 
period,  with  his  accounts  of  matrimonial  offers  and  proposals 
made  to  him,  besides  his  disasters  and  speculations,  in  which 
he  pronounced  himself  a  sufferer  from  fraud. 

It  was  comforting  to  the  damsel,  although  she  had  her  own 
way  of  showing  her  satisfaction,  that  Mr.  Flint  was  where 
he  could  warm  without  any  "  pizenous  niggers  and  Irish." 
And  it  did  her  good,  to  see  how  he  heated  one  foot  and  then 


416  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

the  other,  and  turned  himself,  not  minding  the  position  of 
his  chair  legs  or  his  own.  She  concluded  he  wanted  to  be 
heated  "  through,  and  even,"  and  it  was  perhaps  pleasant  to 
any  one,  who  had  the  same  feelings  as  Keturah  Sprunt,  to 
see  how  comfortable  he  could  make  himself,  and  how  remark 
able  it  was  to  one  of  her  temperament,  that  he  could  bear  so 
much  fire.  She  could  only  account  for  the  enigma  by  the 
supposition  that  he  had  been  generously  toasted  when  he 
was  little. 

Still  there  were  times  when  she  was  not  so  complacent ; 
when  she  would  barricade  his  corner  with  black  pots  and 
kettles,  and  put  saucers  of  molasses  around  to  catch  flies, 
which  had  ever  made  him  feel  unpleasantly,  since  he  fell 
into  it. 

In  vain  Keturah  hunted  among  the  choice  variety  in  Mr. 
Flint's  trunk,  for  the  promised  ratinet,  and  when  she  was 
compelled  to  believe  that  he  had  left  it  in  the  cars,  she 
almost  abandoned  the  idea  of  marrying  such  a  "  shiftless 
hunks." 

The  old  people,  who  were  more  infirm  and  anxious-minded, 
on  some  points,  began  to  be  discouraged  with  Zebedee's 
increasing  indolence,  and  indiscreet  expenditure  of  what 
little  income  he  had,  and  agreed  with  Jane  that  his  best 
course  was  to  marry  Keturah,  who  would  "  look  to  him,"  and 
keep  him,  after  they  were  gone,  from  coming  upon  the  town. 

Jane  had  for  some  time  observed  Keturah's  secret  liking 
for  Zebedee,  and  the  great  inconsistency  in  her  love  for  his 
society,  and  her  abuse  of  him.  Her  settlement  was  a  matter 
of  interest  to  all,  she  having  been  in  the  family  since 
Pharaoh  Sprunt's  second  marriage,  owing  to  her  unconge- 
niality  of  disposition  with  his  second  wife.  In  a  lucrative 
point  of  view,  as  a  family,  they  did  not  consider  Zebedee  an 
eligible  match  ;  but  if  the  matter  of  attachment  was  made 
conclusive,  Jane  thought  she  could  make  him  comfortable 
by  a  marriage  settlement. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  411 

All,  therefore,  which  remained  to  be  done,  was  to  acquaint 
the  parties  that  the  only  obstacle  to  their  happiness  was 
removed. 

Jane's  first  talk  was  with  Keturah,  who  declared  she  had 
vowed  never  to  marry  a  man  she  had  to  "  train  "—besides 
she  "  hated  hen-huzzys  ;"  but  when  she  heard  about  the 
annuity,  she  abused  him  less,  and  testified  that  she  could 
always  say  one  good  thing  of  Mr.  Flint — that  he  never 
"  cracked  np  for  more  than  he  was  worth." 

Jane  next  conferred  with  Zebedee,  who  confessed  that  he 
bad  been  expecting  Keturah  would  take  encouragement 
from  his  sitting  in  the  kitchen — as  if  it  wasn't  his  fire  as 
much  as  hers — he  sometimes  thought  he  would  give  up 
chimney-corner  comforts  if  he  couldn't  warm  his  feet  without 
being  "  snaked  into  all  kinds  of  difficulties."  "  As  for  Keturah 
Sprunt,"  he  continued  to  Jane,  "  she's  besot  me  for  ten 
years  :  and  now  she  wants  to  be  my  death,  getting  me  into 
another  scrape."  He  didn't  like  trying  "  new-fangled  ways 
of  living  " — he  was  "  bad  off  enough  as  he  was." 

But  when  Jane  took  up  the  argument,  and  acquainted  the 
bachelor  with  the  pecuniary  prospects  in  store  for  him,  a  vis 
ion  of  a  fireplace,  full  of  his  own  bread  and  ashes,  elated  him  ; 
and  having  indistinct  notions  that  Keturah  by  becoming  his 
wife,  would  lose  the  power  to  scold,  his  mouth  gradually 
extended  at  the  corners,  and  as  if  in  conference  with  some 
individual  behind  it,  semi-circled  his  head,  and  gasped  assent, 
muttering  in  the  depths  below,  that  it  was  "  nobody's  busi 
ness"  if  he  did  "marry  such  a  'big  thing'  as  Keturah 
Sprunt." 

So  for  a  month,  little,  was  talked  of  at  the  farm,  but  the 
wedding  that  was  to  take  place — though  if  joked  about  it, 
Zebedee  would  declare  the  report  of  his  engagement  a  fabri 
cation,  generally  prefacing  his  greeting  to  his  friends,  by  a 
stout  denial  of  the  fact.  Still  he  was  oftener  than  ever  in 

18* 


* 

c 


418  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

the  cheese  room,  where  he  spent  much  of  his  time  discharg 
ing  apple  and  pumpkin  seeds  at  his  intended  bride. 

"  Won't  you  be  pesky  glad  to  get  some  one  to  take  care 
of  you  and  do  the  providin'  ?"  said  he  hi  one  of  his  most 
amiable  moods  ;  tl  won't  you  get'  fat  as  butter  ?' 

"  I  guess,"  replied  Keturah,  "  it  will  be  the  day  of  Pen- 
ticost  afore  you'll  do  that,  but  I  tell  you — stop  that  are 
snappin' — if  I  stick  on  to  you,  you've  got  to  buckram  up, 
and  not  go  lopping  round,  as  if  your  muscles  was  loose  ; 
if  it  hadn't  a-been  you  was  so  hitched  on  to  the  Seldens,  I'd 
a-seen  you  hung  afore  I'd  a  bothered  with  you  ;  why  land 
o'  Goshen,  if  it  hadn't  a-been  you  was  legatized  by  Miss 
Jane,  you  couldn't  a  provided  a  father-long-legs  for  dinner." 

"  Now,  Keturah,  that  ain't  fair,  after  you've  beset  me  so 
long — you  know  working  hard  don't  agree  with  me,  and  as 
you  are  so  big  (it  ain't  as  if  I  was  goin'  to  marry  a  small 
woman)  why  we  oughter  been  helped  and  set  out  afore." 

"  Shut  your  mouth  about  a  small  woman." 

But  the  big  mouth  did  not  obey,  but  with  a  convulsive 
wriggle,  opened  wider,  and  finally  went  into  an  alarming 
achination. 

"  Jerusalem  !  don't  swallow  me  alive." 

"  Aw  !  now,  Ketury  !"  the  bachelor  grew  affectionate, 
"  make  up — and  jest  this  once«— don't  be  so  hateful." 

"  You  get  out — don't  make  me  sick,  Mr.  Flint — Lor,  now 
don't,  Mr.  Flint." 

It  was  Zebedee's  wish  to  be  married  "  on  the  sly,"  but 
such  a  wedding  did  not  accord  with  her  ideas  of  respecta 
bility,  so  the  matter,  much  to  the  bachelor's  relief,  was 
deferred  for  a  month. 

In  the  meantime,  Keturah's  preparations  for  housekeeping 
were  going  on,  and  so  much  was  she  absorbed  with  towels 
and  pillow  cases,  she  was  less  observant  of  her  intended 
husband's  movements,  whom  she  supposed  occupied  in 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  419 

getting  a  cow  and  pig,  also  a  wedding  suit-money  having 
been  furnished  him  for  the  purpose  ;  besides  funds  to  pur 
chase  a  small  house  and  some  hens. 

As  he  was  always  home  in  "  sparking "  season,  she  was 
not  alarmed  or  jealous  of  his  devotion  to  a  new  male 
acquaintance  which  he  had  formed — a  peddler  by  profession. 
She,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  family,  observed  that  he  held 
many  private  conferences  with  him  in  his  room,  and  in  the 
woodshed,  also  that  they  took  rides  together,  but  as  through 
this  intimacy,  Keturah  obtained  more  house  linen,  and  com 
pensation  for  her  lost  ratinet,  she  was  on  the  whole  pleased 
with  the  friendship. 

Thus  matters  progressed  until  the  appointed  wedding 
day,  when  much  to  the  amazement  and  horror  of  the  family, 
Mr.  Flint  did  not  appear  at  breakfast ;  and  on  examination 
of  his  premises  the  discovery  was  further  made,  that  he  and 
his  yellow  trunk  had  gone,  and  the  sole  light  that  could  be 
obtained  upon  the  subject  was  that  the  peddler's  wagon  was 
seen  to  leave  the  yard  some  time  in  the  night. 

"  And  all  that  cow  money  !"  ejaculated  the  forsaken, 
Keturah.  "I'll  be  strung  up  if  I'd  a  had  him  if  he'd  a 
staid  to  hum — the  roasted  saroent  1" 


420  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OB, 


CHAPTER     XXXV. 

(i    l~^\n)  you  give   Mrs.   Miller  my   card?"  said    Mr. 
L/     Lawrence  to  the  servant  at  the  door  of  his  old 
friend. 

"  I  did,  she  is  not  at  home." 

The  gentleman  concluded  that  the  lady  was  "  insane." 
Fearing  remarks  upon  the  dejection  of  spirits  which  she 
could  not  conceal,  Mrs.  Miller  at  first  arrayed  herself  in 
attire  conspicuous  for  its  gaiety  and  richness,  and  rode  out 
daily.  Returning  from  one  of  her  drives,  after  having  for 
several  weeks  declined  the  visits  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  she 
received  the  following  note  : 


"  MY  BEAUTIFUL  FRIEND  : 

"Having  presented  myself  often  of  late,  at  the  doer  of 
your  mansion,  and  not  finding  your  ladyship  '  at  home,'  I  have  con 
cluded  to  state  to  you  the  multnm  in  parvo  of  my  intentions.  It  is 
so  so,  for  a  man  of  society  to  have  an  affaire  de  coeur  with  a  woman 
of  ton,  living  on  terms  of  equivocal  friendship  with  an  absconding 
partner,  but  the  accomplished  Mrs.  M.,  must  be  sufficiently  worldly 
•wise  and  discreet,  to  know  that  a  friendship  so  amiable,  does  not 
involve  the  responsibilities  and  hazards  attending  the  bestowal  of 
the.  same,  upon  the  afflicted  widow  of  the  Benedict  deceased.  Such 
imprudence  Mr.  Launcelot  L.  would  consequently  avoid,  and  preserve 
unsullied  his  prospects  matrimonial. 

"  The  undersigned  therefore  concludes  to  drop  reluctantly,  the  out 
door  acquaintance  of  the  accomplished  and  afflicted,  but  should  she 
again  conclude  to  sacrifice  her  charms  at  the  Hymeneal  altar,  Mr. 
Launcelot  L.  would  be  happy  to  tender  his  services  to  relieve  the 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  421 

aforesaid  from  any  domestic  difficulties,  fully  appreciating  all  com 
plimentary  annexing  privileges. 

"  Once  your  obedient,  now  your  lamenting  friend, 

"LAUNCELOT  LAWRENCE. 
"  To  MRS.  ELINOR  MILLER." 

Mrs.  Miller  bit  her  lip  with  rage.  Hastily  tearing  the 
note  of  her  admirer,  she  destroyed  it,  and  sought  other  com 
munications.  She  found  upon  her  table  the  following  addressed 
in  an  almost  unrecognizable  hand  to  her  daughter  : 

"  JINNY  MILLER: 

"I  thought  mebbee  you'd  come  back  to  this  blasted 
mean  town,  and  as  I'm  sick  at  a  tavern,  where  there's  nothing  but 
niggers  and  no  other  conveniences,  and  gettin  one  of  my  poor  turns, 
I  don't  hesitate  to  invite  you  to  call  and  take  care  of  me.  You  are 
the  nearest  connection  I  know  about,  in  this  distressed  country. 

"  Yours  in  great  hurry, 

"Z.FLINT." 

Mrs.  Miller  read  and  re-read  this  strange  epistle  with 
feelings  of  new  excitement.  Agonized  as  she  had  been  with 
the  conviction  of  the  utter  uselessness  of  her  life;  still; 
wretched  with  remorse,  with  a  feeling  of  relief  she  felt  that 
she  had  now  an  opportunity  to  do  good.  By  seeking  this 
vulgar  inmate  of  her  husband's  old  home,  and  relieving  his 
distress,  she  could  perform  an  •  act  perhaps  not  unworthy 
of  the  pure  eyes  that  might  look  from  on  high  upon  her. 

She  had  never  seen  Mr.  Flint,  but  had  heard  of  him,  and 
felt  that  the  lower  the  object  relieved,  the  greater  was  her 
condescension  and  the  sacrifice  she  made  to  benefit  him. 

Thus  she  imagined  to  appease  a  suffering  conscience. 
She  resolved  to  be  open  in  the  matter,  and  inquire  without 
reserve  for  the  humble  and  degraded  invalid.  Zaidee  was 
in  her  confidence  and  made  acquainted  with  her  present 
plan,  who  felt  deeply  disgraced  by  the  proceeding,  which 
she  pronounced  "  a  berry  low  bisness,"  her  pride  however  not 


422  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    O.R, 

reaching  the  acuio  of  mortification  until  the  carriage  of  her 
mistress  stopped  at  the  door  of  an  obscure  boarding 
house. 

Bent  on  fulfilling  her  task,  Airs.  LLIIer  determined  to  be 
condescendingly  kind,  and  to  proceed  immediately  to  the 
room  of  the  sufferer,  to  ascertain  fully  his  couditiu.i.  Zaidee 
followed,  not  daring  to  disobey,  but  as  if  she  had  for  ever 
lost  caste  by  the  disgrace  of  the  movement. 

"  A  sick  Yankee  stopping  here,  do  you  want,  madam  ?" 
replied  the  servant  to  the  inquiry  of  the  lady  for  Mr. 
Zebedee  Flint. 

"  Mr.  Flint,"  said  Mrs.  Miller  with  dignity. 

"He  be  onspectable  Missis,  me  hab  no  doubt.  I  no 
'pinion  ob  dem  Yankee,"  said  Zaidee  expostulatingly. 

"  Show  me  to  his  room." 

"  He  has  no  less  than  five  quacks,  and  as  many  peddlers 
with  him  now,"  said  the  waiter.  "  Shall  I  not  take  him 
your  message,  madam  ?" 

"  I  will  go  to  his  room." 

Proceeding  to  the  door  of  our  absconding  friend,  who 
had  been  beguiled  on  the  eve  of  his  nuptials,  to  go  South 
on  a  peddling  trip,  among  boxes,  trunks  and  bundles,  she 
found  the  invalid — bottles,  liniments  and  plasters  strewed 
around  him.  Dressed  in  the  same  habiliments  in  which  he 
left  the  North,  he  made  a  novel  impression  upon  his 
visitors. 

As  the  door  opened,  a  couple  of  men  with  large  packs 
passed.  Seeing  the  waiter  followed  by  strangers,  the 
bachelor  jumped  from  his  seat,  as  if  from  the  invasion  of 
robbers,  and  called  out : 

"  Nigger  1  what  did  you  say  ? — is  Jinny  Miller  coming  ?" 

"  Dunno  mars'r — I  deliver  de  note,  and  dis  leddy  arribe." 

Zebedee  started  hurriedly,  at  the  same  time  huddling 
into  an  open  trunk  his  "traps,"  and  quack  medicines, 
breaking  in  his  haste  several  bottles  which  emitted  not  otto 


THROUGH    THE  WOOD.  453 

of  rose.  Seating  himself  astride  of  the  whole,  on  one  end 
of  the  trunk  he  looked  at  Mrs.  Miller  and  her  companion 
with  a  nod"  and  a  stare  of  defiance.  The  latter  finally 
Bpoke. 

"  A  note  came  from  you  to  my  daughter,  asking  her  aid 
for  severe  illness,  and  as  you  are  a  stranger  in  the  city,  and 
known  to  me  by  reputation,  I  have  come  as  her  substitute, 
to  render  you  such  assistance  as  lies  in  my  power.  You  are 
probably  better  than  when  you  wrote." 

"  Well,  marm,  If  this  ain't  the  biggest  kind  of  impersi- 
tion  I've  suffered  yet  in  this  warm  town.  You  say  you've 
heard  of  me  by  repertation,  and  I'm  bold  to  say,  I  have 
heered  of  you  the  same  way,  which  ain't  any  of  the  likeliest, 
marm  ;  but  if  you  was  fit  society  for  me  to  entertain,  I'd 
be  lummoxed  if  I'd  be  at  the  expense  :  I  come  away  from 
hum  with  better  than  five  hundred  dollar,  and  I've  lost  it 
all  indorsing  it  away  for  property  that  won't  sell.  I've  got 
somethin'  in  this  trunk,  but  it  ain't  a  cow  nor  a  pig,  nor 
weddin  clothes,  as  I  expected  the  speculation  would  turn 
out.  Besides  there's  Keturah  Sprunt  disappointed,  cause 
she  hain't  nabbed  me,  and  I  better  have  had  her,  than  to 
have  been  so  cheated.  I've  given  up  the  acquaintance  of 
all  females — they  are  the  meanest  kind  o'  creation.  But  if 
they  wasn't,  I  wouldn't  risk  myself  with  you,  and  this 
yallow  lady.  I  don't  expect  to  remain  hi  this  awful  place, 
so  you  might  as  well  go  down  sly,  the  back  way.  I  knew 
Jinny  was  used  to  my  cricks,  and  knowed  how  I  was  rubbed 
and  plastered,  so  I  consented  to  have  her  come  and  nuss 
me,  but  there's  no  kind  of  affliction  I  think  you  are  good 
for,  so  I  can't  employ  you  any  way." 

"  Mr.  Flint,"  said  Mrs.  Miller,  controlling  her  rising 
anger,  and  more  than  ever  humbled,  "  a  sense  of  duty 
has  only  sent  me  here,  but  I  am  convinced  you  are  not 
dangerously  ill,  and  that  I  can  be  of  no  use  to  you,  but  if 


424  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

you   should  need  assistance,  by  applying  to  me,  you  w 
receive  aid." 

Zaidee  had  been  growing  stiffer  since  the  conversatK  t« 
commenced  ;  she  now  threw  back  her  turbaned  head  and 
remarked  : 

"  Missus  muss  be  obercome,  she  better  go  out  sich  low 
place." 

"  Set  down,  yaller  woman.  Miss  Miller,  I've  just  tho'f 
what  you  are  after,  but  it  ain't  no  use.  I'm  beset  with 
"widders — allers  was,  but  I  tell  you  I  ain't  a  marrying 
man — that,  Keturah  Sprunt  knows,  and  if  ever  I  make  up 
my  mind  to  bargain  with  a  woman,  it  will  be  to  an  exem 
plary  character,  so  I  can't  encourage  you  nor  this  brown 
female  either." 

Mrs.  Miller  became  now  fully  convinced  of  the  man's 
insanity,  and  thought  it  would  be  an  act  of  benevolence  to 
have  him  sent  to  an  asylum.  But  as  he  seemed  harmless, 
she  did  not  alarm  Zaidee,  but  still  sat  contemplating  what 
she  had  best  do. 

"  Do  you  suffer  much  ?"  she  questioned. 

"  Well,  marm,  I  should  think  I  did,  but  I  guess  I'm  a 
settin'  on  ingredents  enough  to  cure  me.  I  think  it  would 
be  a  relief  to  some  people  I  know,  to  have  the  information 
I've  got  on  back  complaints,  lettin'  alone  the  stuff  I've  got 
packed  in  this  ere  trunk.  Them  nabobs  that  went  out  of 
here,  have  kept  me  in  a  constant  supply,  and  given  me 
enough  to  trade  myself  home  on_" 

"  How  does  the  climate  agree  with  you  ?" 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  how  I  like  mud  and  spiders  ? 
It's  rained  like  sixty  ever  since  I  came,  and  what  the  wasps 
and  hornets  have  left  of  me,  has  lost  its  enenrv  relaxing 

o«/  o 

away.  As  for  my  cash  its  e'enmost  gone,  putting  my  skin 
into  nigger's  hands,  to  keep  over  night,  in  this  thieving 
community." 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  425 

"  Missis  endanger  her  life  here,"  put  in  the  now  wrathful 
Zaidee.  "  He  giv  you  goss." 

"  Do  they  lock  you  up  nights  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Miller, 
compassionately. 

"  I  locks  myself  up — there's  one  time  whea  I'm  safe  :  but 
if  ever  I  get  home,  I'll  settle  down  on  what  I've  got,  and 
give  up  business,  and  all  kinds  o'  speculating.  There's 
Keturah  Sprunt,  I'm  going  to  have  a  fortune  for  marrying 
her.  How  long  is  it  since  you  and  your  man  quit  keepin' 
company  ?" 

"  He's  gettin'  sassy,"  whispered  Zaidee. 

"  I  do  not  see  as  I  can  benefit  him  any,"  said  Mrs.  Miller, 
sighing. 

"  I'd  like  to  have  you  go  out  peaceful,  marm,  and  not 
creak  or  squeak — I'm  particular  what  company  I  keep." 

"  When  are  you  fed  ?" 

"  Well,  I  feeds  with  the  rest  when  the  nigger  begins  his 
thunder,  but  I  don't  depend  altogether  on  the  cooked 
lizards  I  gets  here  :  well,  marm,  you  ain't  in  a  hurry — be 
you  ?" 

"  Missis— me  tink  you  side  yoursel'  sociatin'  wid  such 
scum." 

"  Poor  unfortunate  1"  sighed  Mrs.  Miller,  as  Mr.  Zebedee 
Flint  slammed  the  door  after  his  visitors  and  locked  him 
self  in. 


426  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

MRS.  MILLER  returned  home  dissatisfied  and  more 
wretched  than  before  her  visit  to  one  she  now  be 
lieved  demented.  She  knew  not  why,  but  she  felt  even  by 
the  condemnation  received,  humiliated.  Zaidee  was  in 
despair.  She  took  little  satisfaction  in  arranging  her  mis 
tress,  whose  display-drives  were  finally  discontinued,  while 
she  daily  sunk  into  deeper  dejection.  Listless  she  remained 
in  her  dressing-room,  sitting  through  the  day,  caring  for 
nought,  doing  nothing,  and  seeing  nought,  but  in  imagination 
the  corpse  of  her  husband — hearing  nothing  but  his  last 
words,  which  were  burned  as  if  by  fire  into  her  brain. 

But  the  settlement  of  the  estate  gave  rise  to  matters 
requiring  her  attention,  when  she  was  compelled  to  arouse 
from  her  lethargy,  and  confer  with  Mr.  Hainlin. 

On  his  arrival  at  New  Orleans,  he  called  upon  her  at  her 
dwelling,  and  found  her  like  some  object  inanimate.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  loose  gown  of  grey,  wearing  on  her  neck 
the  emblems  of  the  Romanist  faith.  She  went  daily  to  mass, 
and  came  home  but  to  fast  and  indulge  her  misery.  Her 
features  had  become  colorless,  and  in  the  folds  of  white  cam 
bric  tied  over  her  head,  she  looked  a  Beatrice.  Mr.  Hamlin 
was  much  impressed  with  the  change.  She  did  not  rise  to 
receive  him,  but  pointed  to  a  chair,  while  she  seated  herself 
upon  one  hard  and  uncomfortable. 

He  observed,  as  the  door  of  her  private  room  opened, 
that  she  had  just  come  from  her  oratory,  where  a  large  cross, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  421 

and   a  picture   of    the  Virgin  were    mostly   conspicuous. 
Paintings,  and  images  of  saints  were  about  the  room. 

"  I  am  sorry  not  to  see  you  looking  in  better  health,"  said 
Mr.  Hamlin.  "  I  left  Jeanie  well.  Do  you  not  propose  to 
join  her  at  the  North  this  summer  ?" 

"  Never  again  on  earth,  and  if  you  have  aught  of  a 
worldly  nature  to  say,  do  it  quickly — my  time  is  short  for 
such  vanities.  1  have  chosen  a  vocation  that  will  make  me 
insensible  to  all  ties  of  kindred." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  recur  to  business  ;  you  know  that 
Mr.  Miller  left  you  half  of  his  estate." 

"  I  shall  bestow  a  requisite  sum  upon  the  convent  hi 
which  I  shall  pass  my  life,  the  rest  return  to  the  children  of 
Mr.  Miller.  But,"  the  color  now  flushed  the  cheek  of  the 
pale  woman,  "  I  must  first  clear  my  conscience  of  its  bur 
den,  and  make  a  confession  that  cannot  now  add  to  my 
humiliation.  Before  I  take  the  veil  that  will  shroud  me 
from  the  world,  I  would  expose  fully  the  secrets  of  my  heart 
to  one  who  has  occupied  it,  that  I  may  be  more  openly 
purged  from  sin  at  the  holy  confessional." 

"  Madam,  I  beg  of  you  to  say  no  more  ;  it  is  not  neces 
sary." 

"  Yes,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  would  have  perilled  my  exis 
tence  to  have  won  your  love.  I  would  not  say  this,  but  that 
I  am  on  the  borders  of  an  earthly  grave,  and  about  to  enter 
the  vestibule  to  the  court  of  heaven." 

"  Elinor,  I  would  likewise  divulge  some  secrets  ;  the  cir-  - 
cumstances  under  which  I  am  placed  compel  me  to  do  so." 

"  Secrets  to  me  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  remember,"  said  Philip  Hamlin,  "  a  boy  who 
loved  you  in  your  girlhood  ?" 

"  Hugh  ?  Have  I  ever  forgotten  him  ?  It  is  well  I 
knew  that  he  was  dead  ;  I  gave  him  up  for  the  gold  that  I 
now  resign  as  I  would  the  dust  under  my  feet." 


453  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

"  You  did  not  think  you  might  make  life  a  burden  to  him, 
destroying  his  energies  for  long  years  ?" 

"  He  was  poor.  I  could  not  wait  for  wealth.  At  times  I 
might  have  fancied  him  your  younger  brother — and  yet  how 
different !  Oh  1  had  he  lived  1" 

"  Would  he,  think  you,  have  taken  to  his  heart  one  " — 

"  Who  wrecked  the  peace  of  her  husband  ? — say  it  all. 
I  am  humbled  now,  or  I  could  not  have  told  you  this,  my 
weakness.  You  struck  the  fatal  blow  when  you  kindled  my 
brow  with  shame,  before  my  brain  reeled  with  horror.  Yes, 
yes— I  know  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  Hugh,  even  had  he 
lived  to  have  seen  me  penitent.  He  would  not  know  me  in 
this  grey  gown."  Mrs.  Miller  smiled  bitterly. 

"  Is  the  heart  greyer  for  a  monkish  garb  ?  Is  this  serge 
more  holy  adorning  than  the  gew-gaws  you  have  cast  aside  ? 
Oh  !  Elinor,  discard  these  outward  symbols,  and  with  the 
eye  of  faith,  look  to  your  Redeemer." 

"  How  else  can  I  humiliate  myself?" 

"  Do  you  think  of  yourself  to  make  expiation  ?  Are  you 
not  satisfied  with  the  ransom  by  which  you  can  purchase 
Heaven  ?" 

"  Am  I — even  I,  an  heir  of  Heaven  ?" 

"  Could  you  die  for  your  child,  and  not  love  it  ?  I  speak 
to  you  truth  positive  and  absolute — not  with  conjecture,  but 
with  the  testimony  of  God  Himself.  The  features  of 
Christianity  are  broad  and  clear — its  facts  and  doctrines  are 
marked  to  the  eye  of  a  child.  The  speculations  of  human 
philosophy  cannot  baffle  it,  the  refinement  and  subtle  reason 
ing  of  skeptics  may  bewilder,  but  whoever  reads  the  Divine 
Revelation,  must  on  its  pages  see  the  mind  of  Deity  embla 
zoned  as  the  sun  in  the  cloudless  heavens.  Leave  all  sha 
dows,  perplexities,  and  riddles,  and  go  to  the  inspired 
oracles  for  light." 

"  My  mind  has  lost  its  enthusiasm  " 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  429 

"  Do  you  not  misjudge  it  ?  Have  you  not  served  the  gods 
of  your  idolatry  with  zeal  ?  Yes,  pardon  me,  like  a  great 
man,  you  may  wish  you  had  served  the  God  of  Heaven  as 
well." 

"  I  may  err,  but  it  seems  that  through  the  dark  vista  of 
my  mind,  light  is  dawning." 

"  I  believe  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  with  more  warmth 
and  regard,  than  he  had  ever  manifested,  "  yet  lay  hold  of 
the  cross  invisible,  and  no  longer  kiss  its  emblem  ;  that  you 
will  in  your  heart,  pray,  casting  aside  your  beads.  Hitherto, 
I  have  coldly  addressed  you,"  taking  her  hand  ;  "  but  do  you 
think  I  feel  no  interest  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  one  I  once 
loved  r 

"  Once  loved  !"  Mrs.  Miller  looked  eagerly,  with  strained 
vision,  into  the  eyes  bent  upon  her. 

"  Look  at  me,  Elinor — is  there  no  trace  left  in  my  face  of 
Hugh  Shelbourne  ?" 

"  Oh  !  my  God  1  can  it  be  true  ?  do  I  see  him  in  Philip 
Hamlin  ?  he  who  once  so  loved  me,  and  whose  scorn  I  have 
since  merited  I"  Burying  her  face  in  her  hands,-  the  blood 
mounted  to  her  temples,  to  pass  away.  "No,  no,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  it  cannot  be — how  young  and  handsome  he  was  ! 
But  now — dead  !  yes,  I  have  long  believed  him  so.  Can  he 
be  so  changed  to  me — oh  !  better  that  I  had  been  left  my 
dream  !" 

"  Elinor,  look  at  this  miniature  that  you  returned  to  me  ! 
Is  this  no  proof?  Compare  it  with  the  original !" 

With  trembling  astonishment,  Elinor  Miller  took  from  his 
hand  the  resemblance  she  had  worn  hi  her  girlhood  ;  and 
with  eyes  wildly  searching,  glanced  from  the  painting  to  the 
man.  The  brow,  the  eyes  were  the  same,  but  the  youthful 
beauty  there  pictured,  had  changed  into  the  harsh  lines  of 
stern  and  inflexible  manhood.  Intellectual  power  was 
enthroned  on  the  classic  temples,  where  once  the  wave  of 
beautiful  hair  was  chiefly  conspicuous.  Around  the  mouth  in 


430  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

the  picture,  a  smile  was  seen  ;  sadder,  graver,  but  more 
soulful,  was  now  that  feature  on  the  mature,  thoughtful  face  ; 
and  instead  of  the  complexion  warm  as  the  glow  of  the  ruddy 
peach,  a  settled  and  clear  paleness  contrasted  with  the  dark 
beard  of  the  man  of  six  and  thirty  years.  But  to  Elinor  Mil 
ler  this  contrast  was  not  the  greatest.  Where  was  now 
the  glance  of  passionate  love  ?  where  the  tones  of  musical 
fondness,  that  had  made  her  young  heart  joyous  ? 

She  looked,  and  met  the  eye  of  a  faithful  friend — the  lover 
was  among  the  dreams  of  the  past. 

"  I  see  that  I  bewilder  you,  and  that  you  mark  the  change 
that  time  and  circumstances  have  wrought ;  more  than  this 
you  marvel  that  Hugh  Shelbourne  should  be  Philip  Hamlin  ! 
I  must  leave  you  now,  and  will  write  to  you,  for  I  have  a 
precious  boon  to  ask.  Not  for  the  love  I  once  prized,  that 
would  be  but  mockery  now  ; — but  I  see  you  are  ill." 

"  Go,  Mr.  Hamlin — no  longer  Hugh — go  and  never,  never 
may  we  meet  again." 

"  Yet,"  taking  the  cold  hand,  "  and  yet  be  friends.  Fare 
well — you  will  hear  from  me." 

The  next  day,  Mrs  Miller  read  the  following  : 

"  It  is  strange,  Elinor,  to  communicate  with  one  who  was 
once  the  idol  of  my  life,  and  who  is  now  placed  far  from  me 
by  the  events  of  intervening  years.  It  is  not  essential  to 
the  purport  of  this  epistle,  that  we  recall  vividly  the  days 
previous  to  our  separation,  though  they  may  be  the  most 
brilliant  threads  in  the  woof  of  the  history  I  would  relate. 
The  ten  years  subsequent  to  those  days  are  to  you  involved 
in  darkness.  Let  me  throw  light  upon  them.  Driven  from 
you  by  the  annulment  of  a  contract  between  us,  which  then 
seemed  to  me  binding  as  the  silver  cord  that  unites  the  soul 
and  body,  I  fled.  Stunned  by  the  blow,  it  cost  me  an  effort 
to  rouse  my  energies  to  action  ;  and  to  remain  near  you, 
wedded  to  another,  then  seemed  unbearable. 


THROUGH  THE   WOOD.  431 

\ 

"  You  may  recollect  that  my  mother  was  English,  and 
that  although  a  native  of  America,  I  was  considered  the 
heir  by  adoption  of  my  grandfather,  a  resident  of  Liverpool. 
My  childhood  was  passed  with  an  aged  relative  by  whom  I 
was  educated,  with  the  expectation  of  inheriting  at  his  death 
his  estates,  which  patrimony  was  to  be  bestowed  on  the 
conditions  that  I  remained  with  him  and  finally  adopted  his 
name.  I  returned  to  visit  my  mother  after  her  second 
marriage  and  there  met  you.  You  know  as  well  as  myself 
the  result  of  that  acquaintance.  In  my  boyish  ardor  wealth 
was  no  consideration,  including  the  condition  by  which  I 
inherited  it — separation  from  you.  I  wrote  to  my  grand 
father  declaring  my  passion  for  an  unportioned  American 
girl.  My  arguments  with  him  were  vain  to  obtain  his 
consent  to  my  marriage. 

"  I  then  resolved  to  abandon  my  home  and  expectations, 
and  earn  a  subsistence.  I  believed  that  I  had  the  ability  to 
support  you,  and  with  the  stimulus  offered  as  my  reward,  I 
defied  all  obstacles  to  our  connection.  My  patron  was 
enraged  with  the  project,  and  disinheritance  I  knew  was  my 
inevitable  portion.  Lulled  by  the  witchery  of  hours  passed 
in  your  society,  life  wds  one  of  fairy  beauty.  What  was 
gold  in  my  estimation  to  the  love  of  my  idol  ?  My  existence 
was  a  fervid  dream,  but  of  your  characteristics  or  principles 
I  knew  nothing.  That  you  charmed  me  I  only  felt. 

"But,  Elinor,  when  you  told  me  with  words  icy  and  cold, 
that  our  engagement  was  null  and  void — 'child's  play/  I 
resolved  to  embark  for  home.  My  grandfather  reinstated 
me  in  his  affections,  and  in  my  former  position.  At  twenty- 
one  I  adopted  his  name,  the  one  I  bear,  and  at  his  death 
inherited  his  fortune.  For  three  years  I  was  wretched, 
misanthropic  and  indifferent  to  the  society  of  either 
sex.  You  knew  that  my  attentions  to  you  were  an  earnest 
of  my  truth  ;  I  felt  when  you  trifled  with  my  hopes  and 
made  void  your  promises,  that  you  were  guilty  of  falsehood. 


432  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

I  now  know  that  I  should  have  judged  you  less  harshly — and 
I  did,  as  my  indignation  and  disappointment  cooled. 

"  My  character  was  as  unformed  as  your  own.  My  educa 
tion  had  given  me  a  taste  for  argument  and  debate,  and 
being  gloomy,  my  thoughts  turned  within,  and  fed  upon  my 
own  wild  imaginings.  I  examined  various  creeds,  and  in  the 
German  schools  imbibed  notions  of  philosophy  which  seemed 
to  me  the  only  religion  consistent  with  a  reasoning,  logical 
mind.  I  explored  many  channels  of  literature  to  find  a 
basis,  on  which  to  build  a  dome  to  rest.  But  I  dug  and 
searched  in  vain.  With  heroic  confidence  I  would  seize 
upon  what  I  believed  a  rock  of  granite  foundation,  but  to 
see  it  vanish  like  an  airy  cloud.  In  vain  I  sought  for  the 
light  of  Truth.  .In  the  stars  I  saw  hidden  effulgence,  and 
felt  that  to  my  heart,  they  spoke  rapturous  music — but 
light  and  music  undefined.  I  had  no  faith  in  anything. 
Groping  in  the  mazes  of  superstitious  belief,  and  in  metaphy 
sical  speculations,  I  became  a  dreamer  and  a  dissatisfied 
idealist.  The  God. of  the  Christian  seemed  to  my  perverted 
and  darkened  mind  a  being  inconsistent  in  His  attributes  ; 
and  consequently,  not  one  worthy  of  adoration  and  worship. 
I  could  not  reconcile  the  condemnation  of  a  being  of  His 
own  creation  with  justice  or  mercy.  I  quarrelled  rebelliously 
with  the  arguments  of  divines,  and  finally  sank  into  the 
black  pit  of  unbelief,  and  impiously  denied  the  existence 
of  a  God.  The  beauties  of  nature  that  I  had  loved  as  a 
poet,  lost  their  charm,  as  the  accidental  fruit  of  a  soil 
tumbled  from  chaos  into  existence.  I  heard  the  birds  sing 
without  emotion,  for  they  seemed  no  longer  the  offspring  of 
God's  beneficence  ;  I  no  longer  noted  the  regularity  of  the 
seasons,  or  the  course  of  the  heavenly  bodies.  The  exquisite 
harmony  of  nature  seemed  anarchy  and  confusion  ;  I  only 
observed  the  fluctuating  tide  of  human  events,  and  in  the 
confusion  of  the  warring  elements  I  saw  evidence  that 
substantiated  my  views  of  infidelity.  Like  the  butterfly 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  433 

that  spreads  its  wings,  glitters  in  the  sunbeam,  losing 
its  beautiful  gloss  ;  so  human  beings  I  believed  winged 
themselves  in  the  sky  of  a  broader  atmosphere  and  passed 
away. 

"  This  state  of  my  mind,  tended  to  the  destruction  of  all 
moral  sense.  I  plunged  into  the  wildest  scenes  of  dissipa 
tion,  but  not  long  did  they  delight  me.  I  had  been  too  deep 
a  student  and  dreamer,  to  care  for  play,  or  the  rioting  in 
the  halls  of  pleasure  ;  yet  I  abandoned  no  scene  of  revelry 
from  conscientious  scruples.  In  this  state,  I  resolved  to 
travel.  I  went  over  the  continent  of  Europe,  and  to  Eastern 
lands.  I  dallied  in  the  bowers  of  beautiful  maidens,  and 
flirted  with  the  dark-eyed  girls  of  southern  climes,  but  as 
lightly  and  delicately,  as  I  would  kiss  from  morning  flowers 
their  dew.  I  seemed  insensible  to  the  fascination  of  woman, 
and  for  none  felt  an  emotion  of  passionate  love.  I  believed 
the  Koran,  as  sincerely  as  the  Bible  ;  and  made  myself  the 
master  of  various  languages,  that  I  might  converse  with  all 
nations,  and  learn  their  histories  and  creeds.  During  this 
time,  I  was  insensible  to  the  future.  The  present  was  the 
arena  of  my  thoughts,  and  in  novelty  and  excitement,  I 
drowned  the  past. 

"  Returning  to  Liverpool,  I  heard  of  your  husband. 
Curiosity  led  me  to  seek  his  acquaintance.  The  rumor  which 
subsequently  reached  me,  that  he  had  separated  from  you, 
gave  me  secret  satisfaction.  I  harbored  selfish  revenge  in 
my  heart  for  your  conduct,  and  resolved  that  I  would  be  a 
barrier  to  your  re-union.  I  then  doubted  not  that  your 
regard  for  me  had  awakened  his  jealousy.  I  had  ceased  to 
love  you,  but  I  felt  bitterly  the  injustice  you  had  done  me. 
With  gloating  desire,  I  wished  to  see  the  man  you  had  made 
miserable  as  myself.  We  had  rarely  met  hi  New  York.  I 
did  not  remember  him.  I  was  presented  by  the  name  of 
Hamlin,  and  he  knew  me  not  as  your  discarded  lover.  I 

19 


434  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

scanned  keenly  his  countenance,  and  discovered  Ms  secret 
suffering,  but  with  it  all  a  holy  resignation,  to  me  undefina- 
ble.  We  canvassed  matters  of  business,  and  became 
mutually  interested  in  speculations,  which  finally  connected 
us  in  our  financial  matters.  Our  pecuniary  interests  were 
subsequently  involved,  bringing  us  much  together. 

"  Our  natures,  though  widely  dissimilar,  grew  congenial. 
There  was  something,  as  he  afterwards  told  me,  in  my  state 
of  mind,  which  interested  him.  I  knew  in  acquirements,  hi 
early  education,  and  advantages,  that  he  was  my  inferior, 
but  he  embodied  what  I  had  long  sought — the  bright  .angel 
Truth. 

"  His  simple  and  clear  reasoning,  had  its  power  from  the 
absence  of  all  subtle  logic,  all  abstract  speculations,  which 
had  led  me  into  a  labyrinth  of  doubt.  He  brought  to  my 
vision,  the  great  moral  facts  of  the  Scriptures,  he  showed 
me  the  revelation  of  the  moral  law  on  Mount  Sinai,  in  a 
light  in  which  I  had  never  before  viewed  it ;  and  clearer 
than  all,  he  showed  me  his  faith  and  hope,  in  Christ.  He 
also  opened  to  my  understanding  the  principal  doctrines 
involved  in  the  New  Testament.  I  saw  that  if  such  could 
sustain  martyrs  in  their  sufferings,  and  prove  the  ground 
work  of  the  apostles'  faith,  that  I  must  believe  in  the  truth 
of  the  Gospel.  But  I  yet  saw  through  a  glass  darkly,  until 
convicted  of  the  power  of  Christianity,  hi  the  example  set 
before  me  ;  in  the  patient  resolution,  with  which  he  adhered 
to  his  principles,  regarding  his  separation  from  you.  I  felt 
that  the  religion  of  the  Gospel  was  his  only  support,  and  I 
turned  from  the  glosses  of  contentious  men,  and  the  carp 
ing  of  critics,  to  the  testimony  of  the  Christian  ages,  and 
resolved  to  learn  his  faith.  I  saw  that  he  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  philosophic  moonshine  of  idealists — that  he 
loved  to  sail  on  the  ocean  of  the  past — to  ^'"^  into  its 
depths  for  sacred  pearls,  not  to  wear  them  on  ^w,  or 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  435 

drop  them  in  his  path,  but  to  hide  them  in  his  soul's  casket ; 
and  that  he  loved  to  dwell  upon  the  characters  of  the 
mighty  men  of  old,  to  learn  of  them  true  sublimity.  If  on 
his  mind  shadows  had  ever  rested,  they  were  dissipated  in 
the  sunlight  of  truth  ;  and  his  spirit  now  yearned  for  that 
state  of  being,  when  knowledge,  excellence,  God,  should  in 
brightest  effulgence  shine  before  him,  undimmed  by  earthly 
mists.  A '  new  heavens,  and  a  new  earth,'  were  often  before 
his  imagination,  for  beyond  the  stars  he  saw,  '  light  inacces 
sible,  and  full  of  glory.' 

"  Yet  even  with  this  bright  and  beautiful  example  before 
me,  I  did  not  become  suddenly  a  Christian.  My  struggles 
were  long  and  fearful;  my  conviction  of  sin  was  great.  Like 
Thomas,  I  would  have  palpable  evidence  to  believe,  but 
when  I  released  my  hold  of  things  tangible,  and  with  the 
eye  of  faith  saw  my  Redeemer,  I  obtained  a  hope  sure  and 
steadfast. 

"  Elinor,  I  have,  I  fear,  wearied  you.  I  came  back,  with 
a  resolution  to  return  good  for  evil,  and  if  in  my  power,  to 
unite  you  to  your  husband.  But  during  the  ten  years  of  my 
absence,  study,  time,  sorrow  and  travel,  had  so  changed  my 
outward  man,  that  you  did  not  know  me — I  resolved  then,  to 
preserve  my  incognito,  and  if  possible,  to  show  you  that  I 
despised  your  course  in  life.  In  this  I  succeeded  ;  my  frown 
and  disapprobation,  I  saw  deterred  you  from  many  a  folly, 
and  had  you  have  meditated  any  step  more  hazardous  to 
your  reputation,  you  could  not  have  done  it  with  my  know 
ledge.  I  guarded  you  secretly,  to  accomplish  my  aim.  But 
when  I  saw,  that  in  your  glorious  beauty,  you  loved  me, 
I  needed  my  principles  to  withstand  the  allurements  of 
your  rare  fascinations. 

"  But  I  had  the  will  and  determination  to  promote  my  good 
work ;  and,  though  God,  in  His  mysterious  dealings,  cut  short 
the  exi-u  if  him  I  would  have  made  happier,  still  may 


436  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

we  not  hope  that  his  death  may  be  a  more  sanctifying  means 
of  grace,  than  his  life  ? 

"  And  now  that  you  understand  my  motives  in  visiting 
you,  and  for  censuring  one  for  whom  I  shall  ever  feel  the 
warmest  friendship,  I  would  speak  of  my  later  experience. 

"  I  love  your  child  with  the  devotion  of  a  tried,  and  dis 
ciplined  heart.  I  love  her  as  one  mortal  should  another, 
bound  for  a  haven  beyond  life's  troubled  s§a — with  such 
soulful  tenderness,  that  could  I  see  her  made  liappier  in. 
another  connection,  I  would  not  struggle  to  possess  her. 
But  sweeter  than  all  else  that  life  can  offer,  is  the  conviction 
that  my  affection  is  returned.  We,  as  one,  ask  your  sanc 
tion  to  our  union  ?  . 

"  PHILIP  HAMLIN." 

Mr.  Hamlin  received  the  following  reply  : 

"  My  sanction  is  not  essential  to  the  union  of  two  who 
seem  to  have  been  in  spirit  united.  And  yet  on  this  broad 
earth  is  there  one  to  whom  I  would  not  sooner  have  wedded 
my  daughter  than  to  Hugh  Shelbourne  ?  My  frame  shud 
ders,  and  my  blood  chills,  in  view  of  the  connection  ;  and 
the  strong,  fervid  impulse  of  my  nature  would  bid  me  reply; 
'  God  forbid  a  marriage  so  unnatural  !'  But  while  I  dream 
and  revolt,  I  forget  that  it  is  not  he  who  asks  for  my  child. 
Yes — deny  it  no  longer — Hugh  Shelbourne  is  dead.  I  give 
her  to  Philip  Hamlin. 

"  ELINOR  MILLER." 

Jeanie  was  now  seventeen.  The  grass  had  grown  green 
and  lush  on  her  father's  grave,  and  the  birds  had  built  their 
nests  over  the  hallowed  spot.  Time  had  softened  her  grief, 
and  brought  new  and  fresh  emotions  to  her  young  bosom,  as 
she  trod  brighter  paths  than  those  of  her  younger  life.  New 
light  seemed  born  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  new  joy  added  to 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  437 

her  heart  by  the  change  effected  in  the  character  of  her 
mother  and  her  habits,  who,  in  a  retired  sphere,  became  as 
conspicuous  for  her  Christian  performance  of  duty,  as  she 
had  once  been  in  her  brilliant  orbit,  for  gaiety  and  friv 
olity. 

It  was  an  autumn  day.  The  leaves  were  turning  to  crim 
son  and  purple  shadows,  covering  the  hill-tops  about  Jeanie's 
birth-place,  with  resplendent  mantles — each  a  coat  of  many 
colors. 

Like  a  masquerading  troupe  of  revellers  the  forest  host 
was  decked,  some  in  kingly  glory,  with  leafy  crowns  of  gold  ; 
their  queens  and  maids  of  honor  purple-mantled  ;  others  of 
the  "  goodlie  companie,"  sporting  as  crimson-headed  Turks, 
with  glowing  sash  and  scimetar — bright  Circassians  in  their 
train,  their  fingers  henna-dyed.  Evergreens,  like  young 
fresh  maidens,  myrtle-wreathed,  scattered  here  and  there  ; 
and  among  them,  as  if  sprung  from  fires  below,  towers  •  of 
naming  splendor  stood,  turned  in  a  single  night  to  gorgeous 
scarlet  grandeur.  As  if  with  departing,  gay-winged  birds, 
and  summer's  roseate  skies,  nature  would  make  amends,  and , 
sport  in  mockery  of  woe  a  semblance  of  their  hues. 

It  was  such  a  day  and  such  a  scene  as  would  fain  make 
one  a  voyager  of  the  upper  skies,  to  look  down  upon  such  a 
painted  landscape. 

On  an  eve  as  beautiful,  Jeanie  went  forth  with  a  quick- 
beating  heart  down  the  old  mossed  pathway,  to  meet,  as 
requested,  her  coming  bridegroom. 

She  seemed  fairer  for  her  sable  dress — her  white  arms  and 
neck  moulded,  as  if  fresh  from  the  great  Sculptor's  hand. 
The  silken  wavelets  on  her  brow  wore  no  decoration,  until 
the  sun  came  out  from  behind  a  cloud,  and  through  the 
shaking  leaves  dropped  motes  of  gold,  which  danced  and 
trembled  on  her  hair. 

And  was  the  lover  "  too  old "  for  the  buoyant,  soulful 
girl,  as  he  held  her  beneath  the  oaks,  again  encircled  near 


438  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

his  heart  ?  It  might  be,  for  his  pale  features  wore  a  far 
deeper,  serener  cast  of  thought  than  hers,  but  as  he  stopped 
to  look  again  into  the  drooping  eyes  he  kissed,  an  expression 
that  seemed  to  speak  more  eloquently  than  words,  told  that 
if  there  was  disparity  in  years,  yet,  as  her  mother  had  said, 
in  spirit  Heaven  had  made  them  one. 

But  can  we  say  as  much  of  another  pair,  whose  betrothal 
has  been  made  as  public,  and  whose  marriage  promises  to 
take  the  precedent  ?  This  match  would  not  have  seemed  of 
heavenly  birth,  and  yet  likely  to  result  in  wedlock,  for  Ke- 
turah  Sprunt  was  never  known  to  be  "  slack  "  in  her  under 
takings.  Consequently  the  bachelor  was  doomed  from  the 
hour  they  together  kneaded  their  first  batch  of  dough.  Ho 
returned  from  the  South  poor  and  penitent,  and  -though  not 
"  received  with  open  arms  "  by  the  fair  deserted,  still,  after 
a  quarrel,  she  confessed  herself  ready  to  "  make  the  most  of 
of  such  a  spine-tangled  vagrant." 

The  occasion  was  one  causing  great  excitement,  owing  to 
the  many  misgivings  of  Mr.  Flint,  whose  fears  of  the  risk 
incurred  grew  upon  him  as  the  hour  approached  for  the  cere 
mony  ;  and,  but  for  the  enterprise  and  energy  of  Keturah, 
the  wedding  might  have  finally  proved  an  abortive  project. 
Not  that  he  did  not  intend  to  go  through  with  the  business, 
but  he  wanted  to  take  his  own  time,  and  not  be  in  a  hurry 
about  it. 

But  a  vision  of  his  intended  bride,  in  a  green  silk,  and 
travelling  bonnet,  out  of  which  shone  her  apple-red  cheeks, 
brought  him  to  his  senses,  and  he  knew  when  the  minister 
arrived,  his  hour  had  come. 

Still  he  was  tardy  ;  and  not  until  Keturah  had  held  a 
threatening  confab  with  him  in  the  wood-shed,  where  she 
found  him  sitting  in  his  wedding  clothes  on  a  basket  of 
chips,  could  he  be  induced  to  present  himself  as  a  candidate 
for  matrimony.  "  You  might  as  well  drive  a  pig,"  said  the 
newly  apparelled. 


THROUGH    THE   WOOD.  439 

"  Let  me  alone,"  replied  the  victim,  "  and  wait  till  I  have 
finished  this  turnip — it's  awful  tough." 

And  Keturah  was  right,  he  wouldn't  be  "  driv,"  and 
much  to  the  chagrin  of  the  company,  consented  to  the 
solemnization  of  his  nuptials,  only  on  the  condition  that  he 
stood  up  where  he  was. 

"  But  the  witnesses  ?"  politely  argued  the  priest. 

"  Them  oxen  is  enough,"  replied  the  obstinate. 

Seeing  a  crowd  approaching  the  doorway,  advantage 
was  taken  by  the  clergyman  of  the  bachelor's  proposal,  and 
the  ceremony  at  last  faithfully  performed.  All,  therefore, 
ended  well — the  company  assembled  universally  remarking 
that  Keturah  had  never  looked  more  red  and  resolute, 
than  during  the  marriage  rite,  if  Zebedee  was  more  than 
ever  big-mouthed  and  grouty. 

Out  of  regard  to  his  appearance  as  bridegroom,  Betsey 
had  given  more  cloth  and  amplitude  -to  his  skirts  ;  and  in 
the  frantic  attitude  he  assumed,  his  appearance  resembled 
that  of  a  stuffed  bird,  whose  legs  in  the  embalming  process, 
had  been  neglected,  in  the  undue  consideration  paid  to  the 
superior  beauty  of  the  tail  feathers. 

After  the  ceremony,  the  couple  proceeded  down  the  hill 
to  the  brook,  where  a  repast  was  furnished  by  the  old 
people,  and  might  have  been  enjoyed  by  the  bride  and  the 
company,  but  for,  Mr.  Flint's  impatience  to  proceed  to  Mad 
River,  and  be  "  out  of  sight,"  before  the  mail  came  in  ; 
consequently,  seeing  the  horse  and  wagon  awaiting  his 
movements,  he  pocketed  a  lunch,  and  with  a  twist  of  his 
countenance  to  Mrs.  Flint,  jumped  in.  There  was  no  alter 
native  but  "for  the  bride  to  follow,  or  lose  her  husband,  and 
thus  the  couple  departed  on  their  wedding  excursion,  amidst 
the  cheers  and  loud  hurrahs  of  a  merry  company. 

So  characteristic  was  the  sly  movement  on  the  part  of 
the  cautious  Zebedee,  as  to  bring  even  a  smile  to  the  face 
of  the  placid  Jane,  where  a  soft  holy  calm  seemed  since  the 


440  iHE     'iORCHLIGHT;      OR, 

death  of  Mr.  Miller,  to  have  fixed  its  impress — as  if  all 
restless  emotion  had  forever  passed  from  her  soul,  and  left 
it  in  serene  repose.  Whatever  sorrows  had  clouded,  or 
shadows  had  darkened  her  inner  life,  were  not  revealed  on 
the  surface  of  her  mind  ;  but  as  if  she  had  given  up  all 
selfish  desires  she  went  about  in  her  sphere,  quiet  and 
humble  in  the  performance  of  personal  duty  ;  and  efficient, 
persevering  and  consistent  in  her  regard  for  the  weal  of 
others.  Blest  is  the  household  who  can  claim  for  its  inmate 
a  good  Aunt  Jane. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  441 


CHAPTEE    XXXVII. 

CARCE  one  day  married,  and  petitioning  for 
funds  ?"  said  Mr.  Hamlin,  "  I  had  forgotten  we 
needed  anything  so  material  for  existence,  so  overcome  am 
I  by  this  early  matrimonial  proceeding." 

"  It  was  absurd,  wasn't  it  ?"  laughed  Jeanie,  "  but  then 
poor  grandpa  would  have  never  considered  the  ceremony  a 
legal  one,  unless  he  had  been  a  witness  ;  and  he  must  go 
away  before  breakfast — but  as  we  are  not  fashionable 
people,  it  is  all  the  same — but  my  petition — I  am  half  afraid 
to  tell  you,"  said  the  newly  wedded,  blushing,  "  I  want  so 
much." 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  you  are  wholly  destitute  now,  a 
beggar  on  my  bounty  ?  so  be  very  gracious,  if  you  would 
win  your  suit.  Andjiow  pray  what  may  be  the  burden  of 
this  mighty  appeal  ?" 

The  little  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  fond  husband  was 
drawn  to  his  cheek,  while  he  feigned  surprise  at  the  propo 
sition  made  by  his  bride. 

"  Put  on  your  hat,"  said  he,  "  and  'defy  all  rules  of 
etiquette,  especially  as  no  one  but  the  birds  will  know  of 
the  impropriety,  by  taking  a  stroll  with  me — the  last  walk 
we  shall  have  over  these  old  hills  for  some  time  together. 
Then  I  will  see  if  I  can  fathom  all  your  unreasonable 
desires." 

The  young  wife  consented,  and  to  escape  the  observation 
of  the  household  at  Castlemont,  they  went  forth  quietly, 
19* 


442  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

and  across  the  fields  at  twilight.  Their  steps  led  towards 
a  hill  affording  a  pleasant  walk  to  its  summit. 

"  I  would  like  to  go  quite  to  the  top,"  said  Jeanie. 

"A  characteristic  wish,  my  ambitious  girl — but  rather 
aspiring,  considering  the  step  upwards  you  have  taken  to 
day." 

They  ascended  slowly,  sometimes  stopping  to  rest,  then 
plodding  on,  while  Jeanie  laughingly  urged  forward  her  less 
agile  companion.  The  acclivity  reached,  they  looked 
around  on  the  variegated  landscape — their  eyes  wandering 
to  the  green  wavelets  below,  then  above  to  the  twinkling 
stars  as  they  came  forth  from  the  now  grey  sky. 

The  scene  and^he  exercise  elated  the  spirits  of  Jeanie  ; 
who  expressed  her  delight  and  enjoyment  in  the  prospect. 
"  Yes,  it  is  sweet  and  tranquil  now,  but  I  fear  we  shall  soon 
be  overshadowed  with  clouds.  See  that  leaden  bank 
against  the  horizon  !  Do  you  ever  feel  timidity  in  a 
storm  ?" 

Unconsciously  the  arm  that  rested  upon  her  husband's 
clung  more  trustfully. 

"  Not  with  the  sense  of  protection  I  now  feel,"  she  con 
fidingly  said.  Yet,  her  mind  was  in  a  state  keenly  alive  to 
external  impressions  ;  and  as  the  clouds  gathered  while  she 
spoke,  and  the  air  grew  chill,  she  needed  the  exercise  of  her 
loving  faith  to  drive  from  her  imagination  the  sad  impres 
sion  created  by  the  heavens  dark  shadow,  on  the  eve  of  her 
bridal  day.  Her  thoughts  wandered  to  Ralph,  and  the 
hour  when  a  scene  darker,  more  fearfully  ominous,  had 
excited  to  angry  demonstration,  an  exhibition  of  violent 
feeling. 

She  looked  in  contrast  upon  the  noble  serenity  pictured 
on  the  face  of  her  husband.  Emotions  of  indefinable 
peace  crept  up  in  her  heart,  mingled  with  the  holy  trust  that 
confidence  in  the  truly  good  ever  inspires. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  443 

"  Let  the  storms  of  heaven  now  beat,"  she  silently  mur 
mured,  "  so  that,  oh  God,  I  am  spared  Thy  love  and  his." 

And  he  whose  fidelity  she  craved,  was  there  now  any 
attainable  good  in  life,  for  which  he  yearned  ?  Was  not 
the  sweet  pure  nature  of  his  idolized  one,  fitted  for  the 
endurance  of  life's  conflicts  ?  Once  his  heart  would  have 
been  agonized  with  the  thought  that  a  being  so  beloved, 
should  ever  know  emotions  of  sorrow  or  woe. 

Now  he  felt  that  she  was  prepared  to  meet  them. 
Doubly  sacred  had  become  his  guardianship  of  the  fatherless 
child  ;  and  was  it  a  trust  less  sweet  and  blissful  for  their 
abiding  faith  in  each  other  ?  He  felt  that  while  he  had  loved 
her  beauty,  and  with  fervid  emotion  watched  the  unfolding 
of  the  sweet  flower  he  would  possess  and  cherish,  that 
though  he  saw  the  wreck  of  the  exquisite  temple — the  Jeanie 
that  he  had  worshipped,  would  ever  live  in  his  heart,  her  own 
lovable  pure-minded  self. 

The  rain  did  not  fall  as  they  had  first  predicted — and 
though  the  sky  looked  still  threatening,  they  proceeded 
home  by  the  churchyard  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  grave  of 
the  departed,  ere  they  left  Castlemont  for  a  contemplated 
tour  of  travel.  Long  they  lingered  at  the  burial  spot  of 
one  they  had  both  so  fervently  loved,  and  with  a  sweet 
feeling  of  satisfaction  remembered  that  he  who  lay  below, 
had  united  them  ere  he  died.  Was  the  smile  that  accom 
panied  the  act  ever  forgotten,  or  the  remembrance  of  the 
dead  ever  faint  in  their  hearts  ? 

Before  reaching  the  gate,  the  wanderers  accosted  Arthur 
and  Mary,  now  coming  to  meet  them — gaily  laughing  at 
their  romance  and  imprudence.  The  old  topic  had  been 
revived,  which  had  called  forth  the  raillery  of  the  bride- 
groom-when  they  started  ;  but  not  until  seated  in  the  cosiest 
corner  of  Mary's  cheerful  parlor,  could  Mr.  Hamlin  draw 
from  Jeanie  a  renewal  of  her  petition. 

"  But  T  :\m  afraid  you  will  think  the  sum  so  extravagant. 


444  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

She  looked  archly  into  the  upturned  face,  without  explana 
tion  of  her  philanthropic  and  complimentary  schemes. 

"I  can't  think  of  such  a  presumptuous  proposal — but 
seriously,  my  Pico,  what  do  you  wish  to  do  with  so  many 
thousands  ?  You  surely  are  not  going  to  feather  a  nest  in 
these  woods  ?" 

"  No — no — but  I  will  make  others  happy  and  comfor 
table." 

"  Coax  again,  and  I  may  not  refuse  you.  Surely  you  are 
not  going  to  endow  that  crusty  old  bachelor,  Flint,  who 
used  to  abuse  you  so  ?" 

"  I  ought  not  to  regret  that  he  is  obliged,  when  I  make 
my  good  friend  Keturah  so  nicely  off,  in  that  dear  little  cot 
down  by  the  brook." 

"  But  this  '  dear  little  cot/  will  not  cost  so  much  ?" 

"  You  know  Virginia,  too,  is  a  bride,  and  I  ought  to — " 

"  Endow  Ralph,"  interposed  the  husband,  banteringly. 

"  Don't  tease  me,"  whispered  Jeanie,  a  pair  of  red  lips 
coming  somewhere  near  the  broad  forehead,  around  which 
lay  the  dark  locks  she  curled  and  uncurled,  as  she  wove 
her  pretty  argument. 

"  But  for  dear  good  Mr.  Cameron,"  she  continued,  "  I 
might  not  have  taken  the  walk  we  have  had  to-night." 

"A  very  modest  way  of  telling  me  how  much  I  am 
indebted  to  this  cotton  grower,  and  consequently  to  his 
beautiful  daughter,  on  whom  you  would  bestow  a  fortune,  in 
the  delicate  guise  of  a  bridal  present.  Own  up,  Jeanie." 

"  But  this  is  not  all  I  would  do,"  said  the  bride,  hushing 
the  lips  that  would  still  further  rally  her,  "  I  must  have 
dear  Virginia  with  me  all  next  summer " 

"  I  don't  know  about  this  arrangement,"  eyeing  the 
pleader  keenly. 

"  But  you  would  not  hesitate  to  comply  with  all  my  pro 
posals  if  you  knew  that  they  afforded  me  the  first  moments 
of  happiness  I  felt  after  parting  with  you.  Virginia,  yes, 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  445 

dear  Virginia,  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck  and  kissed  me 
when  she  heard  you  were  saved.  I  cannot  think  of  that 
moment  without  remembering  all  their  sympathy  " — 

"  Enough,  enough,  dear  one  ;  you  know  the  chord  to 
touch.  Give  them  all  you  wish,  so  I  am  left  the  donor  ;" 
and  with  the  confession  came  not  as  once,  "  my  dear  child,' 
but  with  passionate  fondness  the  husband  parted  the  brown 
curling  waves,  and  as  he  kissed  the  white  brow  beneath, 
murmured,  "  my  own — my  wife." 

That  moment  of  confidence  seemed  to  bring  their  minds 
in  closer,  more  blissful  communion.  Mr.  Hamlin's  thoughts 
wandered,  as  he  looked  at  the  young  creature  in  her  girlish 
loveliness  by  his  side,  into  the  past,  when  he  deemed  that  he 
had  become  hardened  and  embittered  against  her  sex,  and 
he  scarcely  believed  himself  identified  with  one  who  could 
have  once  believed  woman's  purity  and  faith  a  delusive  poetic 
dream. 

Jeanie  watched  the  wandering  expression,  and  signified 
her  belief  that  she  could  divine  his  thoughts. 

"  What  were  they,  Jeanie  ?" 

"  You  were  thinking  how  little  I  could  return  you  for 
all  your  wisdom  and  experience — that  I  had  nothing  but  a 
poor,  little  loving  heart  to  offer  as  a  balancing  gift." 

"  Think  you,  sweet  one,  that  tree  on  the  lawn,  with  every 
leaf  expanded,  and  some  turning  at  the  top,  does  not  love 
the  dew  of  heaven  as  well  as  the  young  sapling  ?  Does  he 
not  need  it  the  more  to  cheer  and  make  fresh  his  existence  ? 
Jeanie,  I  would  say,  let  the  young  heart  unite  with  its  twin 
spirit,  and  together  grow  old,  mingling  as  one  ;  but  should  a 
dove-eyed,  loving  young  creature  come  like  a  nestling  bird  to 
the  breast  of  one  older — grudge  not  the  blessing  to  the  soul 
made  green  again  by  the  freshness  of  youth,  springtime  and 
hope.  Few  there  are  thus  blessed,  who  do  not  more  ten 
derly  cherish  the  beloved  one  ;  and  the  more  purely,  if  by  a 
strong  effort  of  will  they  have  ever  crushed  a  passion  for 


446  THE    TORCHLIGHT;    OR, 

another.  Tenderness,  deep  as  that  of  a  woman's  love,  is 
then  the  strong  characteristic  of  the  attachment  that  knows 
no  restless  strife." 

And  yet  how  craving  was  the  exacting  heart  that  en 
shrined  its  young  idol  so  tenderly.  The  thirsting  soul  of 
Philip  Hamlin  had  not  again  tasted  the  sweet  waters  of 
affection,  to  be  satisfied  with  the  icy  current  of  "  respect  and 
esteem,"  and  Jeanie  had  only  to  think  of  her  father's  lonely 
blighted  heart  to  know  that  the  sternest  natures  are  oftenest 
mostly  keenly  wounded  by  neglect.  She  felt  instinctively 
that  she  had  the  full  faith  and  confidence  of  her  husband, 
and  since  the  full  revelation  of  his  history,  she  had  given 
him  hers. 

It  was  the  eve  before  their  marriage  when  the  disclosure 
took  place,  and  so  true  and  vivid  was  the  narration  that  the 
"  child  "  then  exclaimed,  in  painful  agitation  : 

"  I  cannot  wed  the  lover  of  my  mother." 

But  looking  up  at  the  speaker,  she  heard  the  deep  low 
voice  say  with  calm  tenderness  : 

"  This  is  a  matter  we  cannot  debate  or  delay.  If  you  say 
so,  I  will  go  from  you,  and  never  cross  your  path  ;  you  must 
decide  to  give  me  forever  up,  or  be  my  wife.  If  I  loved  her 
of  whom  I  speak,  for  you  I  have  no  love  to  offer,  for  " — the 
stern  voice  trembled — "  I  could  resign  you,  even  though  this 
hand  were  pledged  to  me,  if  by  the  renunciation,  I  ensured 
your  happiness.  You  perhaps  feel  that  in  this  confession,  I 
profess  not  the  passionate  tenderness  you  ci'ave."  He  drew 
nearer  to  him  the  youthful  form.  She  recoiled  not.  She 
did  not  even  remove  her  brow  from  the  hand  that  held  it 
against  his  breast.  "  Jeanie,"  he  said,  "  I  would  never 
cease  my  efforts  to  make  you  happy." 

And  had  she  momentarily  doubted  the  man  in  whom  her 
first  unwavering  faith  was  placed  ?  It  was  not  long — no 
word,  no  confession  came,  but  Philip  Hamlin  knew  that 
Jeanio  lovod  him,  and  would  be  his  wife. 


THROUGH    THE    WOOD.  447 

And  thus,  in  a  digression,  we  have  told  how  the  only  cloud 
to  their  intercourse  had  passed  over.  And  now  that  they 
were  married,  and  in  the  fullness  of  their  joy,  he  questioned 
still,  as  if  he  would  ever  hear  the  echo  of  her  voice  to  his 
fond  query  : 

"  Tell  me  truly,  is  my  little  girl  happy  with  a  husband  to 
whom  she  is,  and  will  be  ever,  a  child  as  well  as  wife  ?  Has 
she  found  her  '  home '  ?" 

The  young  face  was  hidden  and  drawn  closer  to  the 
shoulder  on  which  she  leaned,  as  she  whispered  : 

"  When  a  little  girl,  I  seemed  in  dark  paths  wandering  ; 
but  I  am  now  THROUGH  THE  WOOD,  and  blessed  with  one 
who  has  been  to  me  my  TORCHLIGHT." 

* 


THE     END. 


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"  Another  anonymous  novel,  and  a  successful  one.  There  is  more  boldness  and  origi 
nality  both  in  its  conception  and  in  its  execution  than  in  almost  any  work  of  fiction  we 
have  lately  read.  Its  characters  are  few,  well  delineated,  and  consistently  managed. 
There  is  no  crowding  and  consequent  confusion  among  the  dramatis  personce.  There 
are  two  heroines,  however,  Flora  and  Cora,  both  bewitching  creatures,  and,  what  i» 
better,  noble,  true-hearted  women,  especially  the  former,  Isora's  child — the  dark-eyed  and 
passionate,  but  sensitive,  tender,  and  loving  daughter  of  Italy.  The  work  will  make  it* 
mark.  Who  is  the  author?  We  guess  a  lady,  and  that  this  is  her  first  book." — Weekly 
Life  Illustrated. 

"Its  incidents  are  novel  and  effectively  managed;  and  its  style  possesses  both  earnest 
vigor  and  depth  of  pathos,  relieved  by  occasional  flashes  of  a  pleasing  and  genial  humor. 
Among  the  crowd  of  trashy  publications  now  issued  from  the  press,  a  work  as  true  to 
nature,  and  as  elevated  and  just  in  its  conceptions  of  the  purposes  of  life,  as  this  is,  is  all 
the  more  welcome  because  it  is  so  rare.  We  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  as  popular  as  it  ii 
interesting." — Albany  Evening  Journal. 

"  We  have  seldom  perused  a  work  of  fiction  that  gave  us  more  real  pleasure  than 
this.  From  first  to  last  page,  it  enchains  the  attention,  and  carries  your  sympathies 
along  with  the  fortunes  of  the  heroine.  The  descriptive  powers  of  the  unknown  authoress 
are  of  the  loftiest  order,  and  cannot  fail  of  placing  her  in  the  first  ranks  of  authorship. S 
— Cincinnati  Daily  Sun. 

"  A  story  which  perpetually  keeps  curiosity  on  the  alert,  and  as  perpetually  baffles  .". 
till  it  reacEes  its  denoument,  is  certainly  a  good  one."— Buffalo  Commei'oial  Advertiser. 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE    LIFE    OF    SAM    HOUSTON, 

CONTAINING  AN  AUTHENTIC  NARRATIVE  OF  THE  EVENTFUL  AND  SHIRKING 
LIFE  OF  THE  ILLUSTRIOUS  SENATOR,  HERO,  PATRIOT  AND  STATESMAN. 

A  Beautiful  12mo.  vol.    Illustrated  with  8  Fine  Engravings  and 
3  Maps.    Price  $1  25. 

"  This  book  will  win  him  hosts  of  friends."— Louisville  Journal. 

"  Every  American  should  possess  it. — N.  T.  Express." 

"  Houston  is  a  man  of  prominence  at  this  time.  His  name  is  '  in  the  mouths  of  men.  *• 
—American  Organ  (D.  <7.) 

"  A  strange  asd  adventurous  life — beyond  that  of  most  men." — N.  O.  Crescent. 

"  Intensely  interesting,  and  will  be  read  by  millions." — Hinghnm  (dfass.)  Journal. 

"  No  novel  ever  presented  a  more  attractive  face." — Star  Spangled  Banner. 

"  He  can  capture  with  his  sword,  or  captivate  with  his  eloquence." — Troy  WJiig. 

"  Thousands  of  his  friends  will  read  it  with  enthusiasm." — Christian  Enquirer. 

"  It  should  be  in  the  hands  of  every  American  citizen." — Concord  (N.  B.)  Journal. 

u  In  language  such  as  will  touch  the  heart,  the  outline  of  Houston's  career." — Satan 
nah  (Geo.)  Journal. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  the  most  romantic,  heroic  interest." — Jf.  Y.  Mirror. 

"  Full  of  wild  border  life,  battles,  and  wounds,  and  daring." — Chicago  Journal. 

"N«»  candidate  since  the  time  of  Jackson  has  possessed  more  availabte  points." — Wtao 
York  Evening  Post. 

"'Mim's'  friends  will  peruse  the  volume  with  interest  and  delight." — Worcester 
Trar •script. 

"  For  executive  action  in  peace  or  war,  a  statesman  as  much  as  a  soldier." — New- 
Ituryyort  Herald. 

"His  name  and  history  Americans  will  love  to  cherish." — Buffalo  Christian  Advo 
cate. 

"  A  record  not  unworthy  a  presidential  candidate." — Providence  Post. 

"  A  national  man,  who  has  fought,  and  bled,  and  lived  for  the  American  Republic." — 
American  Patriot. 

"  Would  there  were  more  like  him  among  our  public  men." — Gospel  Banner. 

"  The  woik  throughout,  is  one  of  deep  and  tnrilling  interest." — Christian  freeman. 

"  Sam  Houston  possesses  great  and  noble  qualities." — Cincinnati  Christian  Journal. 

"  We  have  read  the  book  with  intense  interest." — Sehenectady  Reflector. 

"  It  will  be  a  popular  book." — Detroit  Democrat. 

"  Full  of  anecdote,  adventure,  and  thrilling  incident." — Chicago  Budget. 

"  An  extremely  interesting  and  graphic  memoir." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  Will  engage  the  attention  of  the  reader  from  the  opening  to  the  close." — Roc*'*mr 
Union. 
"  Destined  to  have  &  larj  >.:  sale,  for  Sam  is  popular." — Hartfttrd  Republican 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


A    BOOK    Of    RAKE    HUMOR! 
THE     WIDOW     BEDOTT     PAPERS 

BY  FRANCIS  M.    WUITCBER. 

•WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BT    ALICE    B.    SEAL. 

One  volume  12mo.,  with  8  spirited  illustrations  by  Ballas  and  Orr. 
Price  SI  25. 

'    CC      ' **^  /  Q    J  y^     _^ ^ 

Extract  from  a  Letter  to  the  Author  by  the'laU  Joseph  ff  Neat 

"  Our  readers  talk  of  nothing  else,  and  almost  despise  '  Neal '  if  the  '  Widow '  be  not 
there.  An  excellent  critic  in  these  matters,  said  to  me  the  other  day,  that  he  regarded 
them  as  the  best  Yankee  papers  yet  written,  and  such  is  indeed  the  general  sentiment. 
I  know,  for  instance  of  a  lady  who,  for  several  days  after  reading  one  of  them,  wai 
continually,  and  often  at  moments  the  most  inopportune,  bursting  forth  into  fits  of  violent 
laughter,  and,  believe  me,  that  you,  gifted  with  such  powers,  ought  not  to  speak  disparag 
ingly  of  the  gift  which  thus  brings  wholesome  satire  home  to  every  reader." 


CONTENTS. 


Hezekiah  Bcdott. 

The  Widow  Essays  Poetry. 

Widow  Jenkins'  Animosity. 

Mr.  Crane  Walks  in. 

The  Widow  Discourses  of  Pumpkins. 

The  Widow  Loses  her  Beau. 

Mr.  Crane  about  to  Propose. 

Mr.  Crane  Walks  out. 

The  Widow  "  Sets  her  Cap." 

The  Widow  Resolves  to  leave  Wiggletown. 

The  Widow  Trades  with  a  Pedlar. 

The  Widow  and  Aunt  Maguire  Discourse  on 

Various  Topics. 
The  Widow  having  Heard  that  Elder  Sniffles 

is  Sick,  Writes  to  him. 
The  Widow   Resorts  to  Elder  Sniffles   for 

Religious  Instruction. 
The  Widow  concludes  to  Publish. 
The  Widow  Prepares  to  Receive  Elder  Snif- 

les  on  Thanksgiving-Day.  , 

The  Widow  Retires  to  a  Grove  in  the  rear 

of  Elder  Sniffles'  House. 


The  Widow  Writes  to  her  Daughter,  Mis. 
Jupiter  Smith. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Abroad. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  at  Home. 

The  Rev.  Mrs.  Sniffles  Expresses  her  Sentt- 
ments  in  Regard  to  the  Parsonage. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Experience. 

Aunt  Muguire's  Description  of  the  Donation 
Party. 

Aunt  Maguire  Treats  of  the  Contemplated 
Sewing  Society  at  Scrabble  Hill. 

Aunt  Maguire  Continues  her  Account  ofl 
the  Sewing  Society. 

Aunt  Maguire's  Visit  to  Slabtown. 

Visit  to  Slabtown  Continued. 

Mrs.  Magaire's  Account  ot'  Deacon  Whip- 
pie. 

Mrs.  Mudlaw's  Recipe  for  Potatoe  Pud 
ding. 

Morning  Calls ;  or,  Every  Body's  Particular 
Friend. 


j.  o.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE     HIDDEN     PATH. 

A     NOVEL. 
BY   MARION    HARLAND. 

AUTHOR   OF  "ALONE." 

12mo.    Price  $1  25. 

"  High  as  has  been  the  reputation  acquired  by  the  many  authoresses  of  our  country, 
we  shall  be  mistaken  if  the  writer  of  'Alone'  and  of 'The  Hidden  Path"  does  not  take 
ere  long,  place  and  precedence.  She  combines  as  many  excellences  with  as  few  fault» 
as  any  one  we  can  at  the  present  writing  call  to  mind.  There  is  an  originality  in  her 
thinking  which  strikes  one  with  a  peculiar  force,  and  he  finds  himself  often  unconsciously 
recurring  to  what  has  had  such  a  powerful  effect  upon  him.  She  is  emphatically  an 
authoress  not  to  be  forgotten ;  her  works  are  no  short-lived  productions,  for  they  hav« 
In  them  a  genius,  a  power  and  a  purpose." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"It  forms  a  series  of  delightful  home  pictures,  changing  from  place  to  place,  but 
chiefly  confined  to  Virginia,  the  writer's  native  State,  and  she  paints  its  beauties  with  a 
master  hand.  She  loves  her  native  State,  and  has  paid  it  no  mean  tribute  in  her  book. 
We  congratulate  the  young  and  gifted  authoress  for  having  produced  a  work  so  remark 
able  for  its  delicacy,  purity  and  general  worth,  and  prophesy  for  her  a  brilliant  and 
successful  career  In  the  world  of  letters." — Old  Colony  Memorial,  Plymouth,  Mass. 

"It  will  every  way  sustain  the  praise  so  worthily  won  by  the  author's  first  effort.  It 
exhibits  the  nime  healthful  sentiment  and  beautiful  feeling,  the  same  truthful  simplicity 
and  yet  charming  elegance,  the  same  just  appreciation  of  different  phases  of  social  and 
domestic  life.  The  tale  is  one  of  American  life,  and  is  most  aptly  and  gracefully 
wrought." — N.  T.  Courier  and  Enquirer. 

"  '  The  Hidden  Path '  is  a  work  of  originality  and  genius,  full  of  striking  thoughts, 
beaut'<ul  descriptions,  and  graceful  conversation,  and  just  interesting  enough  as  a  story  to 
carry  the  reader  through  a  volume  from  the  perusal  of  which  one  rises  better  at  heart  and 
with  a  more  genial,  kindly  feeling  toward  humanity  in  general." — Boston  Daily  Journal. 
We  have  read 'The  Hidden  Path '  with  unmingled  pleasure.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
novels  of  the  day.  The  promise  given  by  Miss  Harland  in  her  '  Alone '  has  been  full' 
met.  She  takes  rank  among  the  best  writers  of  fiction  of  this  age.  The  story  is  interest. 
ing;  the  language  pure,  often  eloquent;  the  plot  natural  and  interesting;  and  the  inora 
excellent." — New  York  Daily  News. 

"We  take  the  liberty  of  confidently  commending  it  to  our  readers  as  one  of  thos» 
gentle,  earnest  books  which  will  be  found  acceptable  to  all  pure  hearts,  and  become,  w« 
sincerely  trust,  an  especial  favorite  with  the  women  readers  of  America." — Philadelphia 
Evening  Bulletin. 

'  "  Home,  sincerity  and  truth,  are  Invested  with  most  attractive  charms,  and  their  valus 
enhanced  by  painful  contrasts.  While  engaging  the  imagination  by  its  well-conceived 
plot,  it  makes  all  submit  to  its  moral  impression,  and  enlists  the  reader's  approbation 
exclusively  with  the  vinuous  and  true." — New  York  Evangelist. 

"Its  great  charm,  like  that  of  'Alone,'  consists  in  ihe  sincerity  which  pervades  it,  and 
in  the  delicate  sentiments  of  love  and  friendship  which,  in  all  their  unadulterated  sweat- 
ness,  throw  a  magic  grace  ov«r  th«  whole  volume." — New  York  Day  Ttook. 

3 


j.  c.  DERBY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


THE  GREAT  DELUSION  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


SPIRIT-ltAPPINGr    UNVKILED  1 

AN   EXPOSE   OF   THE    ORIGIN,   HISTORY,   THEOLOGY,   AND   PHILOSOPHY 

OF    CERTAIN    COMMUNICATIONS   WITH    THE    SPIRIT    WORLD, 

BY     MEANS      OF     "  SPIRIT-RAPPING,"      "  MEDIUM 

WRITING,"    &C. 

BY  THE  REV.  H.  HATISON,  A.  M. 

With  Illustrations.    A  new  edition,  with  an  Appendix,  containing  much 

additional  matter.     One  12mo  vol.,  price  75  cents. 

"  This  hook  is  sufficient  to  make  any  man  cry,  if  it  did  not  make  him  laugh.  And  it 
has  made  us  laugh  heirtily,  not  the  book  itself,  or  its  style,  but  the  subject  as  it  stands 
divexted  of  the  miserable,  but  cunning  accessories  which  charlatans  have  wound  round 
it.  The  subject  is  completely  dissected,  body  and  bones,  if  anything  '  spiritual '  can  be 
said  to  liave  those  human  necessaries.  It  is  strangled,  torn  asunder,  dragged  like  the 
less  hideous  Caliban  through  briars,  and  torn  on  the  Inquisitorial  wheel  of  the  author's 
research,  shook  ont  like  dust  from  a  Dutchman's  pipe,  swept  down  like  so  much  cobweb, 
riddled  like  the  target  of  a  crack  company,  and  altogether  '  used  up  ' — in  fact,  in  the 
words  of  Sir  Charles  Coldstreara,  there  is  '  nothing  in  it.'  The  illustrations  are  very 
humorous  and  numerous,  and  the  printing  excellent." — National  Democrat. 

"Mr.  Matison  attacks  the  subject  at  its  advent  in  Rochester;  scatters  the  'Fox1  aud 
1  Fish  '  families  to  the  winds  with  his  pertinent  reasoning  and  well-directed  sarcasm; 
marks  its  progress,  upsetting  more  theories  than  the  spirits  ever  did  tables,  and  by 
copious  extracts  from  noted  '  spiritual'  publications,  shows  the  pernicious  tendencies  of 
'the  Dew  philosophy,'  exhibiting  more  deep-laid  villainy  than  even  its  most  inveterate 
enemies  had  supposed  it  capable  of  possessing." —  Worcester  Palladium. 

"  Jt  is  decidedly  the  best  thing  we  have  seen  on  the  subject.  It  is  a  book  of  keen  logic 
withering  satire,  and  unanswerable  facts,  lie  has  stripped  to  absolute  nudity,  this  sys 
tern  of  delusion  and  infidelity  ;  showing  its  abettors  to  be  composed  of  knaves  and 
fools! — deceivers  and  deceived.  Let  it  pass  round." — Pittsburgh  Christian  Advocate, 

"  M'e  can  only  heartily  and  confidently  recommend  it  to  our  readers,  as  thoroughly 
'  unveiling  '  the  latest  humbug  of  our  day,  showing  it  up  in  all  its  nakedn'ess  and  defor 
mity,  and  leaving  us  nothing  more  to  desire  on  the  subject  of  which  it  treats." — Jf.  Y. 
C/ufch  Advocate  and  Journal. 

"  This  is  a  well  printed  volume  of  some  200  pages.  The  author  Is,  of  course,  a 
disbeliever  in  modern  spiritualism,  and  the  book  is  the  result  of  his  investigations  of  the 
so-called  phenomenon.  It  gives  a  history  of  the  rise  of  spirit  knocking,  in  connection 
wit»i  the  Fox  family,  and  its  progress  to  medium  writing,  table  tipping,  &c.  The  write* 
seems  to  have  performed  the  task  he  gave  himself  with  considerable  thoroughness  and 
preat  industry.  We  comirend  the  book  to  the  perusal  of  those  who,  unwilling  to  give  up 
common  sense  and  the  teachings  of  reason  and  philosophy,  have,  nevertheless,  found  in 
the  demonstrations  of  so-called  Spiritualism  much  that  they  have  been  unable  to  account 
for  except  upon  the  theory  of  the  '  Sp'ritualists  '  themselves."  -  Troy  Whiff. 


J     C.    DERBY S    PUBLICATIONS. 


oy 
ell 


THK    GrREEN    MOUNTAIN    TRAVELLERS' 

ENTERTAINMENT. 

BY  JO  SI  AH   BARNES,    SEN. 

*12mo.     $1. 

"  They  will  be  read  with  earnest  sympathy  and  heartfelt  approval  by  all  who  enjoy 
quiet  pictures  of  the  homely,  yet  often  charming  scenes  of  daily  life.  The  style  well 
befits  the  thoughts  expressed,  and  is  equally  simple  and  "npressive.  We  have  found  in 
these  pages  better  than  a  '  traveller's  entertainment '—one  which  will  mingle  with  the 
pleasant  recollections  of  a  home  fireside."— Providence,  Daily  Post. 

"  If  any  of  our  friends  wish  to  get  hold  of  a  book  written  in  a  style  of  pure  and  beau 
tiful  English,  that  reminds  one  of  Irving  continually  ;  a  book  rich  with  inventions  of  the 
marvellous,  and  yet  abounding  in  sweet  humanities  and  delicate  philosophies— a  book 
that  will  not  tire  and  cannot  offend,  let  them  go  to  a  bookstore  and  buy  '  The  Old  Inn  ; 
or,  the  Travellers'  Entertainment,'  by  Josiah  Barnes,  Sen.  It  will  pay  the  leader  well." 
—Springfield  (Mass.)  ItupuWc.an. 

"It  should  be  praise  enough  to  say  that  the  author  reminds  one  occasionally  01 
Irving."— Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  Unless  we  err  greatly,  a  volume  so  markedly  original  in  its  outline  and  features  wiU 
attract  a  large  share  of  attention."— Boston  Evening  Gazelle. 

"  This  is  a  very  pleasant  book.  The  plan  of  it,  if  not  new,  is  just  as  well  carried  out. 
'five  'r  six  'r  half-a-dozen  '  travellers  meet  at  an  indifferent  tavern  in  an  indifferent 
part  of  Vermont,  upon  a  seriously  unpleasant  day,  and  to  pass  away  the  dull  hours,  they 
fall  to  story-telling.  The  record  of  their  performances  in  that  behalf  is  made  up  into  the 
yolume  '  above  entitled.'  So  agreeable  became  the  diversion  that  not  only  the  evening 
of  the  first  day,  but  as  the  following  morning  was  conveniently  stormy,  the  second  day 
is  consu-ned  in  similar  diversions.  Those  who  read  the  book  will  agree  with  us  .nat  a 
stormy  Hay  and  a  country  ion,  with  such  alleviation,  presents  no  very  great'hardship  to 
vhe  traveller,  unless  his  business  is  particularly  urgent.  We  commend  the  book  to  thos* 
«ho  like  a  peasant  story,  pleasantly  told." — Budget,  Troy,  N.  Y. 

"  Under  the  above  title  we  have  several  Interesting  stories  as  told  by  the  various  cha- 

\cters  at  tne  fireside  of  a  comfortable,  old-fashioned  inn,  to  while  away  the  long  hours 

»    storm,  by  which  they  were  detained     The  Little  Dry  Man's,  the  supposed  Lawyer's, 

*ud  the  Quaker's  stories  are  all  worth  listening  to.    They  are  well  told  and  entertain  the 

feeder." — Bangor  Journal. 

"  This  is  a  series  of  stories,  supposed  to  be  related  to  while  away  the  time,  in  an  old 
inn,  where  a  party  of  travellers  are  storm-stayed,  consisting  of  the  '  Little  Dry  Man's 
Story,' the  '  Supposed  Lawyer's  Story,"  Incidents  of  a  Day  at  the  Inn,'  the  'Quaker's 
Story,'  and  '  Ellen's  Grave.'  The  stories  are  well  told.  There  is  a  charming  simplicity 
In  the  author's  style— all  the  more  delightful,  because,  now-a-days,  simplicity  of  lan 
guage  is  a  rarity  with  authors.  It  is  a  book  to  take  up  at  any  moment,  and  occupy  a 
leisure  hour—  to  lay  asid«,  and  take  «p  again  and  again.  We  commend  its  tone,  and 
the  object  of  the  author.  It  is  a  pleasant  companion  on  a  country  journey  "— Jf.  > 
IHsputch. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  helow. 


Form  L9-Series4939 


L  009  575  402  4 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  221  053    0 


I 


*."* 


